The Donor
by alchemilla mollis
Summary: Novelist Isabella M. Swan is pushing thirty and seeking fertility treatment. Her vampire husband can't exactly contribute. Bella tests the limits of Edward's devotion when she plays off colleagues, fans, and her husband's trust in order to achieve her goal.
1. My husband, my nephew

**Un-beta'd, shock horrors. Tell me if you see errors. Also, ignore the novel that was Breaking Dawn. **

**Chapter one: My husband, my nephew**

_Sex on legs_, she wrote in her notebook. Isn't that some phrase invented by chicklit novelists? It was appropriate in this case, though. She demoted it to the margin in tiny letters: _The man was sex on legs. _

She looked up again. It was true, he was sex on long and lanky legs. He was ordering at the counter. Oh man, that profile. Man oh man _oh man._

_He was a tall glass of water: sex on legs_, she wrote, sniggering to herself. Two in one sentence! What would I.M. Swan say if she saw such drivel? Charlotte vigorously scratched it out. She followed him with her eyes, as he carried two glasses of Hernando's Finest Sangria to a booth in the back. She could only get a glimpse of his lucky companion, a woman with long brown hair, over the rustic wooden backrests. He leaned in with familiarity, his arm slipping around the woman's shoulders. _Don't assume a romantic relationship, _thought Charlotte. _Writers must keep their minds open. Observe human nature and discreetly make notes._ That's what Ms. Swan had said in the New York Times Book Review interview, and what she will probably tell her new students in her Creative Writing lecture tomorrow. I.M. Swan wrote about ordinary people, but in an extraordinary way. Charlotte rested her hand briefly on Swan's novel, as if it might give her inspiration.

Within a minute her eyes slid back to Sex-On-Legs. _SOL_, she wrote, for want of a real name. _SOL's hair was a gorgeous, riotous mess, made worse by the frequent pass of his hand. An unconscious gesture, _she added.

Charlotte frowned. It was hard to avoid mentioning his looks. A handsome protagonist would not earn her points with Ms. Swan. She scratched out the word _gorgeous_ and added _auburn_, though that description was inadequate, too.

_SOL played with the ring on his finger, twisting it around with…agitation? _No, _melancholy. _No, not quite right. Ah, that's a wedding ring, she noticed, on his left hand. And he's so young! Better:

_SOL twisted his wedding ring around his finger, his unhappy eyes fixed on his new bride. _

Charlotte nibbled on the edge of a tortilla chip, watching intently now. Sex-on-Legs had his chin in his hand and he was listening to the woman. He didn't touch his wine. His expression was decidedly glum. No, more than that, he looked _resigned_. "_SOL was_ _resigned to the outcome_," wrote Charlotte with a flourish, "_of his wife's repeated infidelities_." A little scandalous scintillation, that's what a story needs. Yeah, a _cheap _story. She sipped her drink, careful not to spill on her notebook nor Swan's novel.

Now the woman picked up a small, flat paper bag, the striped kind you get from the various artists' and jewellery shops on the pier. She reached in and removed a dark, thick string. Charlotte squinted. It was a leather string, with a metal clasp of some kind. Like a man's necklace.

The woman held open the leather string and Sex-on-Legs grimaced. Then, quite unexpectedly, he removed his wedding ring and threaded it onto one end of the leather. She closed the clasp and reached up to slip it over his head. Charlotte would have seen the woman's face by now, damn it, except but for all that brown hair.

The woman then took the string and tucked it down the front of his shirt, giving his chest a quick pat. He pulled on it through his shirt, looking down, like he was testing the length. _Like they were concealing the ring beneath his shirt. _

Then the woman began touching his fabulous face, his hair, his chin, stroking him as if to reassure him of something. He nodded to whatever she was saying, though he looked mighty unhappy about it, staring down into the still-full wine glass. Then he smiled a little. She was coaxing him out of his mood somehow; he turned and bent his head…to kiss her? Yes, it must be a kiss, slow and lingering. Charlotte craned her neck but couldn't see beyond the big-ass knotty-pine post.

Holy Frito Lays. What was _that_ about?

_Holy FLs. _Charlotte wrote. _Why would he hide his wedding ring? _Charlotte scratched out the previous idea about infidelity and wrote another_: They would conceal their hasty marriage, at least until his father's will went to probate. _No. _… at least until her ex-boyfriend was behind bars. …at least until graduation from Star Fleet Academy. _Wey hey.

A few starter premises for tomorrow's first day of term. Swan had sent an email to all her new students, hinting that they might begin writing IN CLASS on the VERY FIRST DAY. Charlotte was determined to impress Isabella Swan and so she had compiled various ideas for any short writing exercises that might come her way. She pulled Ms. Swan's novel closer and read on the back cover: _A Long Piece of Road is I.M. Swan's first novel. _ Various awards were listed. No biography, no photo. The internet hadn't revealed much either, except that Ms. Swan was twenty eight years old and originally from Forks, Washington. Educated at Dartmouth and then a career in journalism in Denver. There were a few interviews with big city newspapers, and one radio interview on NPR – but Ms. Swan had evaded all personal questions. It was her first time to teach at a University too, so students had no old notes to gak off the internet, no forum entries complaining about the professors – nothing really.

Charlotte picked up her drink and glanced over the top of the glass back to Sex-on-Legs, only to _find him staring directly at her_. Crap! She spluttered into her cola, dribbling onto the novel and her notebook. She hastily smoothed her blonde hair and opened Swan's novel, pretending to read. God, he looked at her like he knew what she'd been up to! She flipped the notebook over, too, as if he could read her notes from across the room.

So much for discreet observations.

_**&8&8&8&8**_

As soon as they left_ Hernando's_ – even as they walked across the parking lot – Edward was already moving his wedding ring back to his finger.

"I'm only removing it when we're in public," he declared.

"Agreed." Bella nodded and took his hand. He squeezed hers gently in return and gave her a determined look. _They would make this work_, this human-vampire liaison, this soul-satisfying marriage, this dangerous and error-fraught arrangement. It had worked for seven years so far. The Volturi were too occupied with Indo-Chinese-Western power struggles to even bother to check in. Changing Bella had been put off, for various reasons, time and time again. At first because she had enjoyed her job at The Denver Post. A few years later, the shock of Jasper's death had put all their lives on hold for a while (and for eternity, perhaps, for Alice). More recently because of the unexpected success of the novel. And now Bella's thirtieth year was creeping up on them and Bella was still human.

"But you think I should keep wearing my ring," she said. She leaned into him as she walked, trying to match his long stride.

"Hell, yes. All those Columbia academics swarming around you, like bees to nectar. They'll keep their distance if they know you're married. Some of them, anyway."

"You overestimate my power of attraction."

He just shook his head; would she never believe in her beauty? As she had passed twenty five, her slender frame had filled out, with breasts and hips that drew the glances of men of all ages. Bella kept her hair in a youthful cut, long and layered, though that was mostly to please Edward. But it was much more than appearance; her confidence had finally met up with her intelligence, and this was a kind of beauty that was universally appealing. It had caught Edward by surprise. He had watched her mature and had loved her all the more, if that was possible.

Bella sighed as he opened the car door. "It means I have to tell lies though, consistently and credibly, to a lot of very smart people."

"You've been lying about vampires for over ten years," he reminded her, revving up the engine just to savor the sound. He peeled out of the parking lot. "This just involves more details. Let's practice."

"Um, okay," she said. _"Thank_ _you for the dinner invitation, Professor Heimlich, but my husband won't be able to join us. He is often on tour – I think he is in Europe that week."_

"Professor Heimlich?" Edward chuckled.

"_Oh,"_ she continued the imaginary conversation. "_Edward is a professional musician. He plays for various groups, really. No, no one you've ever heard of. He records Easy Listening covers for Over55 FM dot com." _Bella smirked.

"Ouch." Edward feigned a choking noise. "Don't you dare say that."

"Well, I can hardly say classical...or jazz. There are bound to be enthusiasts in the writing faculty. They'll want to know what quartet you're in and if you have a CD out."

"I am a freelance performer," he said, accelerating over the New York- Connecticut State line. "You'll give them as little detail as possible, just enough to be credible."

"_Oh,"_ she resumed, in a different scenario now. "_who is this other guy, you ask? This god-like young man staying at my house?_ " Bella loosened her seatbelt and turned to put her hand on Edward's thigh. He grinned, keeping his eyes on the winding road.

"_He is my husband's nephew, Tony Cullen –"_

"_An_thony," corrected Edward, playing along. She was such a tease.

"_Anthony,"_ she said, _"is our tenant. A car bodybuilder working to save for college. He keeps an eye on the house in Westchester County when I am at the apartment in Manhattan."_

"We'll be in the Bronx, actually. The Riverside apartment is in the Bronx," Edward corrected again. "And I'm an _auto restoration specialist_, not a body-builder."

"And the best one in New York State, I'll bet. Now stop interrupting my narrative," she said, and she ran her fingers up and down his hard thigh, her fingertips moving along the inside seam of his trousers. She whispered: _"I bed Anthony regularly while my husband is away."_

"This scenario is getting - uhhh- pretty exciting," hissed Edward when her pinky brushed up against his balls.

"So," she continued, moving her hand languidly over the denim fabric all the while, "you are going to be two people: Edward, my thirty-year old-husband who will never ever be seen by my colleagues, and Anthony, Edward's nineteen-year-old nephew-slash-tenant who lives above the garage in Westchester and who runs an auto restoration business."

"Wait – yes, that's right – I can't think when you're touching me like this," he moaned, craning his head forward to keep his focus on the road. He didn't slow down one bit though, and after twelve years of riding in various cars with Edward, Bella no longer feared a road accident.

"We're almost home – approximately 1.25 miles to go..." He reached behind her head and ran his fingers through her hair. "Bella, babe..." he said in the voice that never failed to make her go weak at the knees. "Stop stroking me or I will... I will..."

"Come, my youthful husband?"

"No, I am in complete control of myself, thank you very much," he said hoarsely, now putting both hands on the wheel and gripping it. He skidded into a 180 degree turn into the driveway. Before she could reach over to unbuckle, he was already opening her door. He scooped her up, and in seconds they were inside, manoeuvring through the stacked and unpacked boxes to the bedroom.

Neither was patient tonight; they ripped at each other's clothes. They almost felt they had something to prove: that their marriage would withstand this change of circumstance, that they loved each other no matter what convention the world forced them to follow.

It was a year ago in Denver that the comments began. A high school intern, a ninth grader, at the newspaper had encountered them at the movie theater, and, when introduced to Edward, the kid had asked if Edward was Bella's son. Bella had shot back "He's my _husband_!" with a horrified shriek before dropping a full bucket of popcorn onto the lobby floor. She then went into the restroom and cried bitterly in the stall, thinking that she must look nearly forty, until Edward came into the ladies' room (a first in his long existence) to comfort her. He had reminded her that a fourteen year old was a poor estimator of age; he reminded her that he was dressed like a boy that evening: faded jeans and a Doobie Brothers t-shirt. She cried anyway.

Her colleagues had commented more than once how Edward never seemed to age, how he didn't look a day past twenty, really. Her book editor, her agent – anyone new, really - did a double take the first time she introduced Edward as her husband. Infuriating, really, considering that her agent married had a man twelve years her senior. Of course, the ever-observant Charlie had been questioning Edward's age since his so-called twenty seventh birthday. Not soon after, Edward ceased all visits to Forks; Bella cited his busy work schedule.

When the unexpected success of the novel opened whole new opportunities, the time was right to take them, before someone suspected Edward's persistent youth was _just not natural_. And so here they were, on the East Coast, in a new house, with Bella's new job starti+ng the next day.

Edward lay down on the bed, pulling Bella down with him. Reaching over him, she scrambled for the remote control on the bedside table and hit 'play'. Edward liked to make love to music, and she hoped the iPod was not still set to this afternoon's Bach organ concertos. Ah – John Coltrane: perfect. She gave a little shriek of delight when he flipped her onto her back. She knew what was likely to come next. He rested his hands on her knees, pausing to admire the scene before him.

"Why, it's my favorite book," he said, smirking and slowly pushing her knees open. It was one of their euphemisms for sex, a jest that emerged during the months she was writing _A Long Piece of Road_, back in Denver. He could _almost_ read her, he imagined, when she lay open before him, when he immersed himself in her scent and her passion.

_Point of view_ referred to who was on top (or side or wherever), _prologue_ was any seductive conversation prior to the first touch, the_ hook _was a flash of lingerie when they were in a public place. A _short story_ was a quickie and an _epic_ was a whole weekend of lovemaking. A _climax_, obviously, was a climax.

Now his mouth was at the complex _crux_ of her thighs. "Your fingers too, please," Bella panted and he complied. But she was impatient tonight; she wanted him as close as possible, inside her, even at the risk of missing out on an orgasm.

"Up here." She tugged on his hair. "The _nut graf_. Now." Nut graf was a journalistic rather than literary term: the paragraph that contains the main point of the story.

"Yes, yes," he agreed, pretending to grumble.

He rolled over to his back: the safest _point of view_ for their disparate strengths.

She straddled him and reached down to take him in her hands. Bella teased his flesh with her hands, using her own natural lubricant. Watching his expression while she did things to him was one of the best parts of sex with the most beautiful man in the world. He had waited so long for intimacy – for her alone – and so she wanted to be worthy of such forbearance, reciprocating his generosity in bed with her own. Slowing him down or speeding him up, drawing out his pleasure or surprising him with her passion: these were her tributes.

"Fuuuck." He wrenched his head to the side. When he resorted to obscenities, she knew he was ready. "What happened to the _nut graf_?" he cried and she laughed softly. He put his hand on her hip, stilling her movements and then guiding himself smoothly into her.

Their groans and cries echoed in the nearly bare, curtainless room and Bella was glad they had chosen a house on a large five acre plot. They moved to the rhythm of John Coltrane's band, kissing and touching while she rode him, until it became too much for Edward. She took one hand, then the other, and wrapped his wrists in the stretchy fabric attached to the headboard. He did not resist. A history of bruises and even a fractured pelvis in their early sexual encounters had taught them that Bella, not Edward, had to control the final pace. It was usually unnecessary in a languorous Sunday afternoon session, or even an early morning quickie. It was the post-work and middle of the night couplings that worked him into a frenzy.

They peaked together, her noises almost as feral as his. She sat up immediately, a little shakily, but she managed to balance herself until his eyes returned to gold. The urge to bite her was at its greatest when he climaxed, and unlike her early years with Edward, she had learned to respect the danger. He would never be able to quell it completely, and she thoughtfully kept her neck and wrists away from his mouth afterwards.

"That was as perfect as it gets," he breathed, smiling up at her.

Relaxing, she withdrew and unwrapped his hands. With a satisfied sigh, he enveloped her in his cool embrace, rolling her so that they were side by side. They whispered words of love and mutual admiration with faces close and legs entwined.

She made him feel that she loved him as thoroughly as a vampire mate would, that she would never leave him no matter how disparate their age-appearance became. He thought his heart would break at the restaurant, when she had persuaded him that he could no longer be seen as her husband. It was just a deception to the world, he told himself, a façade over the truth of their love. The Cullens had perfected deception, and now Bella would become as proficient a liar as they were. This bothered him a little.

He made her feel that she could do anything in this world, including teaching a class of very bright undergraduates at one of the finest universities on the East Coast. She did not have a doctorate; she had written only one spectacular novel, which she sometimes feared was just a fluke. But Edward believed in her, and she valued his high opinion, which he did not give easily.

"You should sleep," he said a while later. "Big day tomorrow."

"I wonder if that girl will be in my class...the one in the cantina tonight. I didn't even see her."

"She is, judging by the content of her thoughts. Funny, that she was thinking about you but completely unaware of your proximity. We shouldn't go back to_ Hernando's_ again."

"She didn't see me?"

"No, she was watching me...as women do, " he said, matter of factly. If I hadn't been so distracted by our wedding ring discussion, I would have caught her thoughts earlier."

Bella pulled his hand from around her waist and held it up to hers. They pressed their palms together, their wedding bands making a nice clinking sound.

"Do you think I'll be all right tomorrow? Or will I make a fool of myself..." Bella murmured, folding her fingers in between his.

"You'll be nervous but will sound intelligent. I can predict that without being Alice." He engaged in finger play with her a minute or two, watching their hands make butterflies or impossible animal head shadows on the wall.

"What I really want," she realised suddenly, pulling his hand down to her stomach, "is for you to come with me. If you sit in the back, that blonde student won't see you. You can tell me their thoughts afterward."

"They'll be in awe. Or smitten. Or both."

Bella snorted indelicately. "You're just a little biased, you know."

"Yes," he agreed. Edward pulled the covers up around her, tucking them between their naked bodies before she got too cold. "It's because I love you."

8&8&8&

"Sell," said Edward, "when the New York market opens. All 9K shares."

"Agreed," said Alice. It was two am and Alice and Edward were Skyping, as was their weekly routine. He had become her only contact with the Cullens. Every Wednesday, he waited by his laptop at midnight, offering up a quick prayer that she would show up. He never commented on Alice's appearance (dishevelled, even dirty), never asked where she was (he suspected Singapore) and never asked if she was 'okay' (she wasn't). He had quickly learned she would simply reach forward and shut her laptop, then not contact him for weeks, if he expressed so much as a hint of sympathy or concern in her direction.

They almost exclusively discussed the stock market. It seemed to be Alice's only remaining interest in this world and she was almost robotic in her reportage. Very occasionally, a vision would overtake her during their conversations, but it was always mundane in its objective: _you're going to get a flat tire on Tuesday_, etc. Edward missed the old Alice desperately, but would take what he could get.

"Th-there will be a few curious professors in attendance tomorrow. Bella's a minor celebrity, you know."

Ah, Bella's lecture. Edward did not bat an eye at Alice's change in topic, nor at her stammer. He nodded. "Bella is teaching a class, at Columbia University," he said, in the off chance that Alice wanted some context for her vision. He had to be careful. She would freeze up if he offered family news. He suspected that Alice didn't want to acknowledge that the other Cullens went on, living their lives without Jasper.

But Alice gave no indication she had heard him. She started rattling off figures again.

"Wait, sorry, what are these?"

"Silver futures index," she said tonelessly. "Next Monday 8am, Eastern Standard Time, then at intervals of four hours."

He typed them in his spreadsheet.

"Th-there's a blonde."

"Oh?" said Edward, still typing.

"You should avoid the blonde."

He wondered if Alice meant the student at _Hernando's Cantina_. He did not ask for elaboration. "We will. Thank you."

"Twenty eight point five seven zero, twenty five point two eight zero…"

&8&8&

Bella gripped the wireless mouse that would forward her lecture slides; she took a steadying breath. There seemed to be far more than thirty-eight students here. She scanned the auditorium, searching the gathering crowd for the unmistakable figure of her husband.

She started and dropped the mouse. _HE_ was here. Professor Philip Robson. She recognized him from the journals she had read, from her online explorations. Why, oh _why_ would he come to a creative writing lecture? She had hoped to suss him out anonymously, then introduce herself through an appointment. Now she had to make a good impression right away, on her first ever lecture. His attention was already fixated on her and she hadn't said a word yet! She retrieved the mouse and focused on her notes.

In the last thirty seconds before the lecture was to begin, Bella spotted Edward's elegant, lanky frame passing through the rear door. He smoothly slid into a seat in the last row and gave her a nod. His eyes seemed to shimmer at her: _you can do it_. She believed him, or rather, she believed in his belief in her. She straightened her shoulders, glancing from Edward, to Dr. Robson, to Edward again. Having them both in the same room unnerved her. She would have to make sure that didn't happen again.

_Author's note: Well, I've written most of this. Two-thirds. I think I need the feedback to keep me going. This writing-in-a-vacuum is very trying indeed._

_I'll post a chapter a week._

_Let me know what you think!_


	2. Project Baby Cullen

_Happy Holidays! So lovely to hear from both new readers and some loyal readers/reviewers of my previous scribbles. You rock my Christmas world._

**Chapter Two: Project Baby Cullen**

_At last_- Bella found it. Edward had packed it with old files of tax returns and investment records (under various aliases, of course). She lifted the small steel lock box from its paper wrappings, and carried it over to the desk. Taking a breath, she flipped back the double metal clasps and opened the box. Everything was there as before. She lifted the faded photos gingerly by their edges and peered at the images. Edward as twelve-year-old, in a stiff collar and pressed suit, his posture and pose probably directed by the photographer. His parents, solemn-faced and dignified. Edward Masen Sr. appeared a formidable man, all bristling moustache and curt demands. Elizabeth, too, had a steely look in her eye, despite her layers of feminine lace collars. Or so Bella imagined. This snapshot was only a moment in time, formally posed, and no indicator of their real personalities. Bella put these aside and sought her treasure, at the bottom of the box.

A white cloth, stamped 'North Shore Hospital, Chicago'. It would have to do. It was all she had.

&8&8

"Was everything all right, sir?" The waiter stared at Edward's plate. Only two of the prosciutto-wrapped scallops had been consumed, and the remainder had been given a thorough rummaging. Bella could only eat so much of two meals.

"Yes, delicious, thank you," he fibbed.

"Would you care for dessert or coffee, madam?"

"Coffee only for me, thank you," said Bella.

"Two fingers of The Macallan, please," said Edward. "I believe you have a thirty-year-old?" Single malt whiskey was the only non-sanguinary substance Edward enjoyed. And didn't need to regurgitate.

There was a moment's pause. The waiter nervously considered asking Edward for ID, then decided against it. "Certainly, sir, madam." Table clean again, the waiter disappeared, as a good waiter should when not needed.

"Time for presents?" Edward rubbed his hands together, grinning.

Bella giggled. "If you must."

"I must."

He presented her gifts, all beautifully wrapped: tickets to the American Ballet Company, an exquisite scarf, two first edition books, neither too old nor too precious (20th century authors even). Edward knew by now that a trickle of extravagances, here and there throughout the year, would be better received than a deluge of riches on her birthday. He had also wisely refrained from saying the word 'twenty-nine' at any point today.

Charlie had certainly said it enough, on the phone that morning. "Twenty-nine. My daughter, twenty nine! _Twenty-nine_." Renee had forgotten to call, so far, though all the Cullens had (sans Alice). Emails came from Denver friends and even Angela. Bella didn't do Facebook. Vampire rules.

She unwrapped, enthused and 'ahhed', pausing when their drinks came, then tucked everything back in its box with care. "Thank you, sweetheart. Perfect."

He gave a little chivalrous bow, at the table, his hand on his heart. "It's a fraction of what I'd like to give you."

"I know," she said, affectionately. "I am perfectly happy with what I already have. Do you realize how lucky I am?"

"That's not luck. You earned your book royalties, every penny. And my money is yours."

"I don't mean _financially_. I'm talking about _you_! I have a husband who is never dull in conversation, who is meticulously empathetic to my moods and needs, who shares my interests but lets us both explore them independently. He doesn't leave hairs in the drain, doesn't burp, doesn't fa—"

"I should hope not," said Edward, in mock affront.

"He's a whiz with the shower squeegee and the vacuum attachments."

Edward narrowed his eyes.

"And did I mention his virility?"

"That's better. Mention it, go ahead."

"Well, despite his flawless, youthful appearance, he has the worldly experience of a mature man. Quite the rockin' bod, too."

Edward laughed and swirled his whiskey in his glass. "You lucky girl."

"AND, he knows when to call me a girl and when to respect me as a woman. Hm, what else…"

"He loves you dearly."

Bella waited. Here Edward usually made some comment berating himself, whenever she tried to compliment him. Something about his 'foul diet' or his 'amoral past'.

"And I love him too," she replied, pleased when he did not beat himself up after all. Perhaps he was coming to terms with his integrity. She wanted him to believe in his own goodness. At last.

"Good to know."

8&8&8&

Bella opened her email. "Oh. Oh."

"What are you _oh-ing_ about?" Edward asked, from behind this month's issue of _AutoTrader_. Edward and Bella were lounging in bed in their new Riverside apartment, on a glorious September Sunday morning, two days after her birthday.

"Um, it's these emails my agent forwarded to me. The earnestness and…and _deference_ I get from my readers! I don't understand it, really."

"All well deserved." He smiled. "Still getting fanmail, then."

"Every now and then. Someone picks up my book and then he or she feels compelled to tell me about it." She glanced at Edward; his eyes were rapidly scanning the classifieds at the back of his magazine, back and forth, back, forth. She typed a reply.

"I can't believe you're responding. You'll only encourage them."

"Well, this one has captured my interest," she said perfunctorily.

"And raised your pulse rate," he observed.

She shrugged and hit _send_. "Edward." Bella put her laptop aside.

"Mmm, Mrs. Cullen?" he replied. The sun bounced off his bare chest and spread facets of light across the ceiling. The sparkling Hudson River, a hundred feet below them, just couldn't compete.

"_Edward_."

He put the magazine down. "My apologies. You have my full attention."

"What would you think if… Would you consider…" She fidgeted with the cotton sheets. "Um, this is really hard to talk about."

"Sex?" He reached over and fingered the thin strap of her nightgown.

She smiled. "No."

"Money."

"Noooo." They almost never discussed money. There was little need to do so.

"Those are the two topics that commonly occupy the thoughts of human married couples." He glanced toward the ceiling. Two floors up a couple was having sex but simultaneously worrying about making this month's mortgage payment. He tuned it out.

"You're most _un_common, Edward Cullen." She scooted closer, throwing his magazine onto the floor.

"_We_ are, Professor Swan." He planted a kiss on her shoulder. "We might even be unique. Is this about changing you into a vampire?"

"No. Well, yes, indirectly. And it's Ms. Swan. I'm not even adjunct faculty." Bella pitched forward and put her arms around his waist, so that she was tucked under his chin. She sucked in a breath. "I was thinking that I'd like to have a baby."

This pronouncement was met with silence for a full fifteen seconds. The rise and fall of his chest came to a stop. "That's quite a reversal," Edward replied soberly. "A complete change of heart."

"Yeah, I know," she said. "I don't know what happened. I think it might have been all our friends in Denver starting to get pregnant. And holding little Thomas at our farewell party – he was so tiny and so precious. Something inside me woke up. Something I didn't think I had."

"A motherly instinct," suggested Edward.

Bella sat up to look at him, anxious for his reaction. She did not want to reveal how important this had become to her. Not at least until she had him on board. "Maybe. I know it's a bit early for the biological alarm clock…"

"Why have you not mentioned this to me until now?" His tone was not accusatory. His eyes, however, were distant. She could almost see his brain in action, cataloguing all the possible consequences of such a decision.

"I wanted to see if the feeling held. If it were just a passing fancy. And it wasn't. In fact, if anything, my desire to have a child has grown since we moved to New York." She turned her cheek and laid it against his cool, silent chest. "We're a partnership, of course. You need to want it, too. A baby would completely change our lives. And you have to tell me how important it is to you, whether or not the child carries your own DNA."

"Hmph, it's not like I have a choice," he said. "I conceded that impossibility long ago." He resisted the lure of pride and put his arms around her again. "So. Artificial insemination? Or, more accurately, Intrauterine Insemination?" The words came out as smoothly as he could manage them.

"That's right. IVF as an alternative, if IUI doesn't work," she said, feeling bolder now that he was already addressing the details. "The baby would be my biological child. Obviously. Um, unless you'd want to adopt. That's a possibility." She had to determine how far he was willing to go.

He considered his answer for a moment. "Would you prefer a child with your own genetic material? It's one of nature's most primal drivers." His head was down now, his chin resting on the top of her head. He stared at Bella's hands, at her fine wrists and delicate fingers. He remembered her at the farewell party, with their friends' tiny baby in her arms. He'd thought at the time that the flush on her cheeks was due to the margaritas.

"I'll admit the idea is profoundly appealing," she replied. She was trying to hide the excitement in her voice, but he could hear it as clearly as any stranger's mind-thought. Her heart rate, the temperature of her skin…all the tell-tale signs were there. She wanted this. Badly.

Something was building in Edward, something he did not want to articulate, even to himself.

"On the other hand," she continued, "there are a lot of unwanted children in the world, and maybe we should be less selfish. I thought, though, it might be easier for you to love the child if it was from my body."

"Hm, yes, that's probably true," he said softly.

She discussed caring for the baby, how they could share childcare and both work part-time if they desired, how they might deal with the risks during her change and beg assistance from Carlisle and Esme, how they could conceal the child from the Volturi, if they ever turned their attention west again. Bella had obviously put considerable thought into it already. 'Project Baby Cullen', as she termed it, would involve time, expense and of course, a commitment to another being for at least eighteen years, if not for a lifetime – a human lifetime, anyway.

Edward could only nod. He was inwardly floored by the term 'Baby Cullen'. He had to remind himself that, genetically, he wasn't a Cullen either.

Bella was concerned about timing. She might be thirty-two, even thirty-three when they changed her. 'Can you live with that?" she asked, her brow creasing. "Being mated to an immortal who looks thirty-three?"

"You will probably be even more beautiful by then," he said. And he meant it.

She did not, he noticed, mention how they would go about choosing the sperm donor.

An hour later, when she realized that she hadn't exactly gotten a definitive answer from him, she shut down the topic 'for further investigation'.

Edward excused himself into the bathroom for a shower. He closed the door and put his forehead onto the cold bathroom countertop. His breath accelerated to short, shallow spasms. He squeezed his eyes shut.

_Be supportive, you little shit_, he berated himself_. She gave up a normal life for you. Of course she should have a child if she wants one. OF COURSE SHE SHOULD_.

Hadn't he encouraged Bella to have the complete human experience? To enjoy activities and pleasures that would later be denied to her as a vampire? Not having a baby was certainly Rosalie's paramount regret. It tainted – and would continue to taint, indefinitely, Rose's very existence. He wouldn't want that for Bella.

So what was the problem?

_Sperm_. Some other man's sperm, some other man's DNA, joining the genetic complement of his beloved to create a unique life that would then be implanted in the wall of her uterus.

A surge of possessiveness and envy arose in him in a rush. He was well aware that it was a feral, instinctive reaction. She owned her uterus; he didn't.

He raised his head to look in the mirror.

"Behave, vampire," he hissed to his reflection. "Be the honorable and enlightened man she holds you up to be. You will support this. You will."

&8&8&

"You are slow tonight," commented Alice, between rises and falls of Nasdaq numbers. It was Wednesday night, Skype night.

"Yeah, sorry. I'm distracted," he sighed, his fingers flying on the keys. He was hoping for a snippet from Alice about this Baby Cullen idea. Something that would let him know all would be well.

No, tonight it was all about leveraged buyouts made by already-extended Fortune 500 companies. Destined for failure, predicted Alice.

"You need to finish unpacking," said Alice, ten minutes later.

"Do I?" said Edward, absently. He disliked the unpacking part of the Cullen moving process. Once the books and music were done, he had always left the rest to women of the coven. "Why? What happens if I don't?" he asked, then immediately regretted it. Alice huffed, stood up and stepped back, her petite frame lit with the eerie blue light of the screen. He held his breath, his fingers still. _Don't ask for more. Never ask for more, you fool._

"The Euro will gain next week," she replied shrilly. She sat down again. "Two point six percent by Tuesday.

"Got it," he breathed, hitting _cntrl+n. _ A new spreadsheet, currency trades, month of October.

"Avoid the blonde," said Alice again, at the end of their session.

"Thank you," said Edward woodenly. "We will."

Maybe she was referring to sperm donors.

&8&8&

"Yes, Mom, it's an amazing institution," Bella enthused, holding the phone to her ear while she simultaneously unpacked the spice jars, with some attempt at alphabetical order. "Everyone is so articulate and so _accomplished_. The woman whose office is two doors down was Britain's Poet Laureate in the nineties, the guy sitting in the staff meeting is going to name a new element on the periodic table, and somebody just walking around campus is going to cure cancer."

"Cure cancer?" said Renee breathlessly. "Really? Just while walking around?"

"I was kidding. Sort of. Who knows, they probably will." _Why do I have three half-full jars of cumin seeds? _She put one aside to take down to the Riverside apartment.

"Yeah, but you've written a bestseller, honey. That's nothing to sneeze at. And Edward is ridiculously smart, I am sure he is going to make some major contribution to the world of Physical Therapy. He'll make paraplegics walk. With hydrogen-powered legs. Or something."

"Um, well. I've been meaning to tell you. Edward has actually started up a new business."

"His own practice? Already?"

"No, actually. He rebuilds vintage sports cars. It's something he has been doing for years anyway."

No response.

"Now he's just getting paid for it," added Bella. "He adds sustainable features too, so they're more environmentally friendly."

Renee's pause lengthened. "But…Edward was doing so well as a Physical Therapist. Wasn't he? I thought he was. Oh dear. I know money isn't an issue for you two… but…"

"Mom," Bella replied, shoving a jar of mustard seed to the back of the cabinet, "of course he was doing well; he's_ Edward_. Don't you give me a hard time about this, Mrs. Always-follow-your-dreams."

"It's different for men, honey," said Renee, in that irritation-inducing tone that only mothers can summon. "They need obvious accomplishments. Earmarks, that show that they made a differenc e in the world. Changing careers every five years won't get Edward those earmarks."

How could Bella explain? A vampire can't risk bringing attention to himself. Edward's accomplishments would always be limited, by necessity and by his youthful appearance. Bella's fame as a novelist still might put them at risk with the Volturi one day, if that fame persisted after her change. No, they must both pursue obscurity. Just one more book of short stories, and Bella was done as I.M. Swan, writer (Or _published_ writer, anyway. Bella could never stop writing entirely – it was a compulsion by now.) Anyway, the next phase of their lives was going to be highly rewarding: parenthood. Hopefully. Bella wasn't going to mention Project Baby Cullen to Renee, no way.

Bella's silence stymied whatever further admonishments Renee was going to make, but she couldn't help but offer one more piece of unsolicited advice.

"It's probably best, while you're at Columbia, if you don't talk about other men's accomplishments in front of Edward. He is a proud man. I suspect he's not the kind that will tolerate male colleagues in your life. If they're curing cancer, and he's just tuning engines…well… he's not going to get the Nobel Prize and he knows it."

"You know what, I've gotta run, lots to do today," Bella snapped. "I'll talk to you later, Mom." She hung up even as she heard a clueless "okay-bye-honey" from the receiver.

Bella shut the cabinet with a bang and turned around. Edward was in the kitchen, his back to the counter while he cleaned his hands with a rag.

"I guess… I guess you heard all that," said Bella, cringing. "I'm sure…in fact I _know_ you could win a Nobel Prize if you wanted one."

"Yeah. I just can't find the time," he answered dryly. "I've left an engine running." He pointed in the direction of the garage, and then walked out the door.

&8&8&

_Reviews are like a really nice piece of dark chocolate in my stocking._


	3. The Fan and the Cullenajo

Don't fret, Bella loves him. Stay with me now-

**Chapter three: The Fan and the Cullena****ĵo**

Edward slipped in the rear of Bella's lecture once again, careful to sit out of the eyeline of the blonde student – Charlotte was her name, he'd overheard – from _Hernando_'s. Edward was hoping to take Bella to lunch after class in a funky little French Bistro on the north side of campus. The tables were very private there, and he was planning to tell her that he would assist her with 'Project Baby Cullen' in every way possible. He would apologize for being so distant all week, for spending so much time under the hood of that little '62 Austin Healey every night. He had simply needed time to adjust to the idea, he would tell her.

He had called Carlisle and Esme after Bella's announcement, hoping for a balanced discussion. Esme's reaction had been selfless, instant delight. It made Edward feel like an asshole.

Carlisle, too, had practically congratulated Edward, expressing admiration for Edward's 'conscientious decision'.

_I haven't said 'yes' yet_, Edward wanted to bark into the phone.

Emmett, in a late night cell phone discussion, had gone straight to the point: "Shit. Some other dude's jizz, huh? Ouch."

Edward felt a little less guilty after that.

Ultimately, Bella's happiness was his immutable objective. And that gave him his answer. He would tell her at lunch. She was giving the students her 'opener' now. They chuckled, they listened, they scribbled her every word. A quick sweep of the auditorium indicated nearly all students today. He hadn't told Bella about the six – count'em – SIX colleagues that had attended her first lecture.

Their thoughts had rung out as if they had been shouting. Oh the petty jealousy, the fascination!

_Sixty-two weeks perched on the best seller list and the she didn't make a single fucking public appearance! No blogging to the dim masses, no signings at the chain book stores, no kissing the asses of Kirkus Reviews. _

_God, she's doesn't even look thirty. I didn't imagine I.M. Swan looking like this at all. _

_She needs to pay her dues. Where are the short story submissions, the respected anthologies, the years of criticism and rejections? Does she think she can skip all that?_

_It wasn't that brilliant anyway, I don't care what the critics said. I am not going to read it. I'm not. _

Edward had perversely enjoyed their misery. Columbia's School of Arts employed a variety of minor literary stars on their faculty, few of whom had actually made real money on their endeavors. Novelists, Poets, winner of this literary Fellowship and that Chair of Post-post modernism Literature.

Edward grinned at his wife from the back of the room. She looked amazing today, in a black knit dress and low heeled boots, walking back and forth in front of the auditorium, waving her hands. Her hair was pinned up in a tidy knot, no escapees today. She hadn't spotted him yet. He absently fingered his wedding ring through his shirt and focused on her _lecture _instead of her _ass_. He noted that a few other minds around him were struggling to do the same.

However, ten minutes into the start of Bella's class, Edward smelled _vampire_.

He froze, the venom rushing through his body like adrenaline. The vampire was to his left and not particularly close, or he would have smelled him or her earlier. He rapidly began to filter minds, looking for bloodlust, for an efficient thinker, for an inflated ego. New York had a sizeable vampire population; it was inevitable they would eventually encounter one. Regardless, he didn't want one anywhere near his fragrant human mate.

The moment he managed to sieve and locate a vampiric thought, the thinker rose and passed out through a rear door. Unfortunately, Bella noticed the hiss of the door pistons. She faltered mid-sentence, which up until then had been a rousing speech about personal writing style and freedom from trends. She coloured slightly and managed to finish her point. Edward hated to do it to her, but the moment she turned her back turned to write 'Free association exercise' on the board, he rose and quickly slipped out the same noisy door.

He found the vampire in under a minute, standing expectantly, hands clasped in front of her, in the building's courtyard.

Ah, _fuck_. This vampire had a curly blonde bob, the cut either from the 1920s or maybe the 1980s. Was this the blonde Alice had told him to avoid? Couldn't she have mentioned that that blonde was a _vampire_?

"Are you a student here?" he snarled. He slowed his last few steps to a menacing, predatory gait. This was as much instinct as intent.

The vampire shrank back for a moment, but then straightened her shoulders in a move that reminded him a little of Alice. She removed her sunglasses slowly and looked up at him. Her eyes were amber, the strange intermediary between gold and red. A mixed diet, then. "No. Are you?"

"I sample the lectures." He waved his hand dismissively. "Why that classroom in particular?"

"Because you went in it. You went in it last Thursday, too." She raked her eyes up and down, trying to guess his perpetual age. She admired his clear golden eyes, and he read in her mind a desire for a connection of some kind. She had an agenda, one he was impatient to discover. He would not allow her benign, girlish appearance to sway his responses. Jane the sadist came to mind, briefly.

"So? What do you want?"

"You're a _Cullen__aĵo_." She grinned, all caution evaporating.

What the hell was this? He gave a _don't-give-a-fuck_ shrug. "I don't know the term."

"Oh yes, you do!" She clapped her hands together, excited. "You refuse to drink human blood. A la' Carl Cullen."

_Carl _Cullen.

"And that makes me a…Cullenaĵo?" he replied, giving away nothing. It did not sound like a Volturi-conceived word. It was more Portuguese than Italian. Even Esperanto. Carlisle had succeeded in keeping a low profile in the vampire world for over 300 years. Who was spreading this moniker around?

"It's a total lifestyle choice, right? Sooo, me too! I'm _trying_ anyway." She pointed at herself with both hands, a coy smile emerging. She wore fingerless gloves in black lace. A Madonna wanna-be. He guessed she was turned in the eighties.

His response was cold. "I don't need a label to make my decisions. Nor do I need a support group." He turned. "Don't stalk me again," he said over his shoulder. "And get the fuck off campus."

"Oh my God, what_ever_," she called back, suddenly indignant. "I'm not looking for a support group, or even a _dining partner._ It's information I want."

"I can't help you," he muttered, knowing she would hear him. _Avoid the blonde_, he reminded himself, and kept walking, despite his curiosity. He walked in the opposite direction of Bella's classroom, in case the vampire should follow him again. He could see himself, through her own vision, as he walked away.

She was hugely deflated by his rejection, her thoughts petulant rather than fearful. He was the first golden-eyed vampire she had come across in the city and she desperately wanted to quiz him. _What about?_ he wondered_. _He lingered in her mind, probing, all the while taking a circuitous route around campus. She had in her brain an abstracted woman, a winged, goddess-like figure, with a half-dressed male servant at her feet. Edward snorted. This vampire's mind reminded him of Renee's. Full of quasi-religious, underbaked fantasies.

Eventually he circled back to the Student Union. He purchased a black coffee and sat down at one of the few shady café tables, one mind's eye on the vampire and her location, the other seated in the thoughts of one of Bella's students. Bella's lecture had morphed into a group exercise that had them all in lively discussions of fours and fives.

He pulled out his phone and texted Carlisle: _Have you heard the term Cullen__aĵo? _ _Does anyone call you 'Carl'?_

There was no immediate response. Carlisle, _Herr Doktor Kulen_, was probably at the Munich Clinic today, doing a voluntary night shift.

The vampire, meanwhile, was still within mind-reading range. She wandered around campus, aimlessly, skirting the sunlight and debating whether to engage Edward again. He was relieved she had no interest in author I.M. Swan or her lecture.

The café was actually a good shady spot to observe the doors to Bella's classroom. He could see when the students departed. His lunch plans were still possible. His mind returned to Project Baby Cullen. He tried to picture it. The child.

The child that would be half-Bella's and half some bastard's who got paid by a sperm bank to masturbate his viable gametes into a container.

At two minutes after the hour, students began to exit Bella's classroom. Edward tapped his fingers restlessly on the table, watching them. Their minds were stimulated, inspired, some of them ready to get home and write. _Nice job, Bella_. He bent over, pretending to retrieve something from beneath the table, when the Hernando's Cantina blonde walked by. She did not see him.

_Terrific_, now some other student was detaining Bella at her podium. The guy, who had a soft British edge to his 't's and a cultivated 'plum' in his vowels, was talking about 'A Long Piece of Road' and she was nodding and blushing. Bella had never handled the novel's praise very comfortably.

The student _loved it_, _it was the great American novel_, etc. etc. and _was there any particular inspiration for the violent scene in the laundrette_?

_Yeah, an angry confederate vampire_, thought Edward dryly. In fact, the whole narrative was rooted in Jasper's many stories of horror and honor. Bella had modernized them, de-vampirized them, and articulated them beautifully. Alice and Jasper had insisted she try to publish it; Alice foresaw no reprisals—indeed, no notice whatsoever - from the Volturi. And so Bella had. What Alice had failed to predict was the sheer popularity of the work.

The guy then laid his hand audaciously on the podium. It was a grown man's hand, not a boy's, in the sleeve of a tweed jacket. Edward stiffened.

Ah, this wasn't a student, it was a colleague. Someone comfortable in this domain.

In fact, a little too comfortable standing so close to Bella.

"I've read about your work, too, you know. Such an exciting arena for the future," Bella was saying. She tilted her head and smiled at the man, while flashing her wedding ring at the same time. The guy's ego shot through the roof – Edward could have anticipated _that_ without any mindreading—while the man simultaneously noted her marital status.

Edward stood abruptly, ready to end this tête-à-têteand rescue his wife. Then he checked himself. His natural reaction, to possess and protect, had upset Bella on several occasions, particularly when it interfered with her job. Edward had ruined more than one story of Bella's at the Denver Post, by appearing unexpectedly mid-interview, all glower and threatening posture. Simply because he didn't like the tenor of the interviewee's thoughts. And this was long before her bestseller status and its attendant 'fan' readers.

Bella wanted to meet colleagues, make contacts, engage with people she admired. This included men, of course, unfortunately. Renee's advice to Bella on the telephone briefly invaded his mind. He straightened his shoulders and rose above his mother-in-law's words.

"I can _deal_," he muttered. He sat again and sipped his coffee grumpily, swilling it around in his mouth and then letting it right back into the cup when he took his next fake sip.

He drummed his fingers on the metal table again and watched the doors. At last! Bella and her fan came through the doors, the last to exit the classroom. Edward observed them as they continued to chat, ambling toward the café in no particular hurry. The man was probably in his early forties. Professorial in appearance with his wide-wale corduroys and ancient loafers. A thinning reddish thatch on his head and frameless glasses on his nose. He spoke intelligently and politely, but with an oblivious intensity that often characterized academics.

Edward sat up again, figuring that Bella would spot him among the occupied tables sooner or later. He was ready to play the distasteful role of her nephew, Anthony, greeting his aunt and feigning the need for a ride home.

_And… _they walked right past him. Bella's satchel almost skimmed his table, but she hadn't even glanced his way.

Edward nearly laughed aloud. Nearly.

&8&

Half an hour later, the blonde vampire had circled right back where she started, to a shady campus café, where she spotted the profile of the handsome Cullenaĵo with fucked-up auburn hair, seated at a table and staring glumly at the passersby. Maybe that's what Cullenaĵos did, as a sort of daily temptation test.

"Cullenaĵo," she said in greeting.

"You again?" he growled, without even sparing her a glance. "Go away." His growl was only half-hearted.

"Mind if I smoke?"

He sighed.

She pulled out a pack of cigarettes and sat down.

&8&8&8&

Bella shook Dr. Robson's hand in farewell, and, with the promise of a second meeting, she departed the Natural Sciences Building.

She felt optimistic. Now she wouldn't need to pursue an acquaintance with him; the novel had paved the way. She had even managed to steer the conversation back to his research, doing her best to ask informed and relatively intelligent questions. He had been equally surprised at the extent of her knowledge; she had had to play it down a bit.

Bella was setting him up where she wanted him. She had waved her wedding ring around while talking. Surely Dr. Robson wouldn't get any inappropriate ideas about her interest in him.

She walked back toward the staff parking garage with a little swing in her step. She slowed as she approached the Student Union and stared. Among the bustle of lunching students, there was her dear Edward, sitting at the outdoor café' with a blonde girl. She had a big hairdo, all curly flaxen hair and large-lensed sunglasses. She smoked a cigarette like a new smoker, holding it almost experimentally and tapping the ash on an empty coffee cup.

Bella was used to women coming on to Edward. Girls would babble nervously, before slinking away under his withering non-response. Grown women would be more aggressive in their approach, then mortified when he implied, with a few choice words, that they were closeted predators of underage boys. But his interaction with this blonde girl seems to fit neither of those patterns.

This was a two-way conversation. Edward's arms were folded across his chest, but he was looking at the girl and listening intently to her. She was animated and expressive, waving her free hand around as she spoke. He nodded or shook his head no; he responded with short sentences.

Bella stepped forward again, wanting to let this girl know that Edward was completely and utterly taken. Except that Bella had to convey that information while pretending to be his aunt. Oh God, how deflating. Bella stopped, realizing exactly how this girl would view her. Practically middle-aged. Meddling. Well-meaning, but to be ignored.

Bella resumed her forward pace. Edward would handle it smoothly; he would be sensitive to Bella's feelings, he always was. If only he could smell her approach, he could set it up nicely. Bella must be upwind, or would have noted it already.

Then he tilted his head back and laughed. The girl smirked and took a long, sensual drag on her cigarette, closing her eyes as if swooning. Bella stopped again, now just thirty paces away. She could hardly believe her eyes. She hadn't seen him laugh all week, not since she announced she wanted to have a baby.

She had left him alone, these last few days, to brood and mull and adjust to the idea of parenthood while he tinkered with that aging British sports car. She wanted him to want it too. He would come around, she thought. He would do anything to make Bella happy. Then she would turn around and make him happy. It would be her greatest and last gift as a human.

&8&8&

_Un-beta'd once again. Feel free to point out errors, dear readers!_


	4. Happy, Agreeable

**This chapter is very short, so I'll post the next one on Friday, then next Tuesday again. Sorry, but it was the natural break for the chapter! **

**Chapter four: Happy, Agreeable**

"What's this one?" They all looked the same to Bella, especially in a scrap yard. Tired, faded carcasses of metal. She scrutinized the photo on Edward's computer, and spotted the little black horse logo on the hood. "Ferrari!"

"Correct. This one was beyond restoration, though. Might be good for cannibalizing parts," said Edward with boyish enthusiasm. He scrolled through a few more photos. "We'll scatter a few of these car-corpses around the yard, and they'll serve as a ready supply source."

"If it makes you happy, sweetie, you go right ahead." She reached over and rested her hand on the nape of his neck.

"Excellent. Cars on blocks on the lawn." Edward winked.

Bella knew he was kidding. Edward would never defile the lawns in such a manner. He liked to claim that it was _Esme_ who directed Cullen decorative taste and that it was _Alice_ who had (previously) commandeered Cullen sartorial choices, but the truth was that Edward carried his own aesthetic pride. And that included the lawn.

"Okay," he said, advancing to the next photo, "what about this one?"

"Maserati?"

"No, no, look at the lines of it. It's a Ferrari, too." Faster than she could observe, he got up and returned with a piece of paper and a pencil. He proceeded to draw out a series of curves. He gave them wheels and suddenly they were cars. He gave them dates and then they were specific year models. Edward knew how to capture the essence of an object in minimal lines.

Bella had once observed the Cullens playing Pictionary, and it was a high-speed wonder. The Cullens used a five second timer, as the little glass sand-timer that came in the box was far too liberal. Bella had spent the game watching Esme, who was the best of them by far and the coveted partner. Edward, as a mind-reader, wasn't allowed to play.

"Is there anything you can't do, darling?" she asked, only half-teasing. Now he was drawing Maseratis.

_Father children_, he thought immediately. "Eat baked chicken," he answered instead, nodding toward the oven. "It smells ready."

"Oh!" she said, jumping up. "My dinner."

He cleared the table and she served up her meal. She had cooked her own dinner tonight, which she did several times a week to give Edward a break.

"A glass of Pouilly Fuisse?" Edward lifted the green bottle from their mini-fridge, a temperature controlled wine cooler. "A '91. I read it was pretty good. Crisp, apparently."

"Yeah, that would be nice, thanks." Bella sawed at her chicken breast with her knife. She had overcooked it. She really had lost her touch in the kitchen.

He deftly uncorked the bottle, poured her a glass and set the bottle down. "I was on campus today."

Bella looked up, a little relieved. She had been waiting for him to mention it. "Why didn't you text me? We could have had lunch together."

"Indeed, I wanted to take you to lunch," he said wryly, sitting and putting his elbows on the table. "So I waited outside your class."

Bella stopped mutilating her chicken. "Oh."

He chuckled. "You came out, already engaged in conversation with someone else."

Oh crap, he had seen her with Dr. Robson. She put her hand to her throat and searched Edward's expression for some sign of discovery. "OH. Oh. I'm sorry, Edward. I…I…." How much had Edward overheard? She felt her face heat up.

"It's okay," he reassured her, touching her hand. "I'm a grown-up vampire now. I wasn't going to interfere with your 'networking', even if he is an obvious admirer."

"An… admirer."

He observed the deepening flush on her cheeks. "A fan, I meant," he amended quietly. "A fan of the novel."

"Oh. Yeah. He is a fan." She bent her head back to her chicken-task. "You should have texted me anyway. I would ditch the fan for a sandwich with you any day."

"Another day. We can go another day." Edward played with the corkscrew, thinking. He wanted to proceed with the topic that had occupied him all day. Well, most of the day, until his discussion with _the blonde_ distracted him. "I wanted to tell you today… I want to tell you now…" he began.

She looked up, blinking. Was this about the smoking girl? His café encounter? She felt a bit silly at present; she didn't want to admit that she had walked away, unable to face being his 'aunt'.

"I want to tell you that I am happy to go forward with Project Baby Cullen." He blew out a breath. _Happy_ was not the most honest word. He should have said _agreeable_. "I want to support you through the process. Be there for you. Be there for the baby."

"Oh, Edward!" she said, surprised. She had anticipated a few tense discussions first, all laden with sperm-donor-envy. He was accepting it without protest. Tears of gratitude sprang to her eyes and she rose suddenly, throwing herself into his lap. "Thank you, darling!" She began to laugh in relief. "Oh, thank you. I know it's a difficult decision. I'm very proud of you. You won't be losing my attention, you know, you'll be gaining a son…or a daughter!" She buried her face in his neck and he held her close, laughing too, in spite of himself.

8&8&8&

Bella slept soundly, her arm flung over Edward's naked thigh. They had made love with a celebratory rush, then more slowly, a few hours later. Bella continued to be both weepy and ecstatic, thanking him again and again. Now Edward reclined in bed, leaning against the pillows, texting Carlisle. Talking on the phone would be easier but he didn't want to dislodge Bella. Her warm body was a comforting presence.

_Her name is Tia,_ he texted._ A novitiate vampire, changed in 1984. She is trialling vegetarianism. Eyes amber, this side of orange._

_-That's wonderful, _texted Carlisle.

_Yes. She said there was a pro-human sentiment growing among East Coast vampires. Their inspiration is the 'human worshipping' coven of Carl Cullen, she said. I did not correct her mistake, nor tell her I was a Cullen myself._

_-Were those her exact words: 'human worshipping'? _ Carlisle texted back. _We are more benign imposters than worshippers._

_Yes. It gets more absurd, too. Tia said she'd heard a rumor of a vampire mated to a human, living somewhere in New York City. This human woman is so extraordinary, so exceptional, that she commands the adulation and obedience of her vampire mate. The story goes that he gave her his fortune and went 'cullenajo', despite the torture of his constant bloodlust when she is near. The vampire is her chauffeur, bodyguard and sexual slave. _

Edward paused his thumbs. It had not escaped him, how closely his own relationship followed Tia's description. Exaggerated, of course, but similar. Edward continued: _He is her servant, cook, and cleaner. _Edward winced a little as he typed. _The woman is called Havermosa_.

He scowled. He was not Bella's servant nor sexual slave. Okay, she tied him up, but that was for her safety. True, he ended up doing much of the housecleaning. Only because he was quick and efficient and _awake_ in the middle of the night. It took no time at all, if you listened to an interesting podcast while you polished the hardwood floors. Oh yeah, he did the yardwork, too.

It was a few minutes before Carlisle responded: _How extraordinary. _

Edward wondered if Carlisle would comment on the likeness as well, or was he being too polite to mention it.

_-Who is the male vampire?_

_Tia didn't know his name, _replied Edward. _ She didn't seem particularly interested in him. Only in Havermosa._

_-I assume Tia is still ignorant of your own marriage to a human._

_Of course. I revealed nothing, other than my first name 'Anthony'._

_-How did she hear of this couple? And what are her ultimate intentions? _Carlisle texted.

_She heard the story in Atlanta, told by more than one vampire. She is seeking Havermosa. Out of curiosity, she says, but she seemed quite fervent about it. She is naïve and a bit melodramatic. And foolishly incautious when meeting an unfamiliar vampire. _

_-Not unusual in a novitiate. How did you respond?_

_I dismissed it as an impossible, ridiculous myth, but promised to make a few inquiries anyway. I would like to send Tia down a false trail and get her as far away from Bella as possible, as I do with all vampires. But I wanted to seek your advice and, if we're lucky, to hear some shade of a vision from Alice before I acted. I will contact Tia then._

_-That is wise. Dear, dear Alice. Please send her our love. _

_I will, _he typed, though he wouldn't. Nothing would shut Alice down faster than the word _love_. She communicated best with numbers for now. He wondered if she would even mention his failure to _ignore the blonde_. Alice cared, didn't she? She would surely hint _something _, if he had tipped fate toward danger.

Edward texted, nearly until dawn, as he and Carlisle discussed their usual topics (_what should we do about Alice _and_ how long will the Volturi continue to ignore us_) and then concocted plans to dispel these Cullenajo rumors and simultaneously redirect Tia west. Carlisle added that Edward should take a moment to encourage and praise Tia's fledgling vegetarian habits, if the opportunity arose at their next encounter.

Edward made a scoffing noise. Carlisle, ever the idealist and humanitarian.

Edward did not mention Project Baby Cullen in his text exchange; Carlisle did not ask. The subject was still a little too raw for Edward. Another week and he would be okay with it. He was strategizing, as Jasper would have done, how to keep the child safe for its lifetime. Edward was reading books and medical journals now, looking at fertility cycles, prenatal vitamins, dietary research, and advancements in intrauterine insemination. He was acclimatizing, desensitizing, and committing. For Bella.

8&8&8&

A novitiate vampire has been a vampire for fifty years or less, and therefore is sometimes considered foolish or inexperienced by other vampires. (I just made all that up, of course.)

Unbeta'd, not even a pre-reader, so all comments and criticisms are most welcome.


	5. Men and their Toys

**Happy Friday, all.**

**Chapter Five: Men and their Toys**

"Oh my God," she moaned. "So beautiful. SO beautiful."

Edward moved the iPad webcam in a lingering, slo-mo pan of the 1968 Dodge Charger, so Rosalie could get the full-on experience.

"And you managed not to fuck up the interior," she said, when he held the iPad through the open passenger door.

"Why, thank you. High praise. I'm almost blushing." He _was_ feeling rather pleased with the results of this latest commission, both aesthetically and technically. This sole proprietorship arrangement was working out to be fairly satisfying. In all his guises as a human, a businessman was one he had never attempted.

"I wish I could take it out for a ride." Rosalie sighed. "Can't you hang on to it until we come at Christmas?"

"Nope, the client is picking it up tonight. Within the hour, in fact."

"God, I'm so jealous. And you've got a Ferrari to do next? You know, I might just have to move down there and partner up. You could use my superior skills, especially with the Italian models."

"Hah!" he barked. It would never happen. It was true, they were a good team together in the narrow arena of cars and their engines. Outside of a garage, however, they could barely tolerate one another, particularly without the tempering effect of Esme's admonishments and Carlisle's shining example of the golden rule. Further, Rose's erratic and often hypocritical demeanor towards Bella continued to rile up Edward. The Christmas visit had better be _brief_.

"You could pass me the tools," he deadpanned. "Run errands. If you behave, I'll let you wax and buff."

"Fuck you." She gave him the finger, on screen.

"Right back at you." Edward smirked and returned the gesture. She never said 'fuck' to Emmett. Nor anyone else. No, she reserved that particular impropriety for Edward alone.

"Listen, brother." There was a long pause.

"Yes?"

"I'm really proud of you. So far."

"You are? God, I think I need to sit down. It's just a car, Rosalie."

"Not the car. The baby."

Edward did sit down, then, right in the Charger, putting the iPad down on the bench seat so he wouldn't have to look at his sister. "Yes. The baby," he repeated soberly, running a finger along the leather upholstery. A vampire's fingers left no oils.

"It's a selfless act, for a vampire," she said. "Letting someone else father the child."

Edward gave a derisive snort. He was not comfortable discussing this sort of topic with Rosalie.

"I was thinking…" she began tentatively.

"Don't hurt yourself."

"Shut up a minute. I was wondering if you looked into using your own DNA."

"Pfft. We have none; we make none_. _You know this."

"Shut _up_, yes, I know that. But you have something none of the rest of us have: some drops of your own blood. Dried up, on some hospital cloth, right? That's even better than a hair or fingernail. I mean, they're talking about reviving a woolly mammoth from its blood; I saw it on the news!"

"You mean _cloning_ not _reviving."_

"Whatever. Its DNA is a whole lot older than your 1917 drop of blood."

"Quite." Edward shook his head. "However, that mammoth blood was in nearly consistent sub-zero temperatures for its entire existence. My blood streak has been in an attic for more than eighty years, in extremes of summer heat or Chicago's winters, in contact with chemicals from old photographs. It has denatured and degraded – too much so, to risk on a child's genetic well-being."

"Yeah, but they can do so much now! If I would've known that my blood could one day give me a child, I would have saved some of Emmett's…I wouldn't have burned all my…my clothes." Rosalie's voice dropped.

Edward paused, out of a moment of respect and sympathy. Rose rarely mentioned her rape and near-death. "I know, Rose. I'm so sorry we did not think to save even a cut of cloth, at the time. If we had foreseen such advancements in gene technology, we would have preserved vials of your blood! But at the moment, they could get only enough from my dried blood for DNA profiling, as they do for crimes or paternity testing. But it would have too many 'holes' to actually create half the material – a sex cell . Much less a clone."

"Oh my Lord," squawked Rosalie. "A clone of _you_! Perish the thought!"

Edward threw his head back and laughed.

"I guess they can't fill the holes with frog DNA, like in that Jurassic Park film?"

"A _Creature from the Black Lagoon_ might raise some ethical questions," he replied, citing a film from half a century ago. He chuckled. It was a truly terrible film.

"Okay," she sighed. "I guess by the time they figure out how to get a whole sperm's worth of your DNA, Bella will be a vampire then too. So it's now or never. A sperm donor or nothing. Well!" huffed Rosalie. "She better appreciate what you're doing for her."

Edward stopped smiling. "I hope it won't be too difficult for you, Rose," he redirected, though his concern was genuine. "Seeing Bella with a baby."

"You mean seeing _you both_ with a baby. Yeah, okay, I'm jealous. I admit it," she said, as if he had accused her already. "But thanks for saying so. I might deal with it better than you think."

He nodded, staring out the open garage door. The autumn leaves would be peaking soon; the Red Maples almost there, the Sugar Maples up next. Beautiful in their collective death-fall. Maybe Bella would want to rake leaves with him this weekend. Share the chores.

"Look at me, brother."

He picked up the iPad again. Rose was leaning forward, into her camera.

"Listen," she said, "the baby has to be number one, do you understand? He or she isn't asking to be brought into this world; you and Bella made that decision. While I find your usual martyrdom for Bella a little ridiculous at times, I hope you'll do the same for the baby. You'll need to forget that it's John Doe's baby." Rose sat back, and looked away for a moment. She took a breath. "I can help take care of the child, you know. Offer protection and care during Bella's change or whatever. I would like to."

"I appreciate your offer. We'll consider it," he said gruffly. "I need to go. My client—" he turned his head in the direction of the thoughts, now entering their long, tree-lined driveway, "—or someone, is arriving now."

Rose was right, of course. This baby-to-be doesn't deserve his shitty attitude. He disconnected and climbed out of the Dodge, stepping out onto the driveway. He put his hands on his hips and frowned.

He was expecting Mr. Fauberg, not_Mrs._ Fauberg. Out of the back seat of a black town car, stepped feminine, irritable thoughts. She strode toward him, her sleek briefcase swinging. Her professional driver was already ogling the Dodge through his windscreen.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Anthony Cullen."

"I'm Anthony Cullen."

She stared for a beat. "I'm here to pick up the car for Leonard Fauberg."

"You are…?"

"_Mrs. Fauberg_," she said and he detected a fine edge in her voice. "Didn't he tell you I was coming? He told me he would tell you."

"I'm afraid he hasn't. May I see some ID?"

She scowled and looked all her forty-eight (a guess) years, despite her careful grooming. There were subtle streaks in her hair, though not enough to classify her as 'blonde'. Thank God. "I don't share my husband's last name," she said after a long pause.

"Perhaps you share his address? May I see your ID?" he repeated.

She gave Edward a second once-over with her eyes, trying to get the measure of him. Then followed a fuss with her wallet and briefcase, juggling. Edward decided a gentlemanly offer to hold the case would not be welcomed. She stepped forward and held out her driving license; she looked him right in the eye, fighting a low-humming instinct that it was dangerous to do so.

Anne Dinan was forty eight years old, spot on. He recognized her name now; she was CFO of a Pharmaceuticals Company into which he and Alice had invested a few years ago. Mrs. Fauberg/Dinan was now recalling this very morning, where a recognizable Leonard Fauberg rolled out of bed, scratched his belly and asked if she could pick up the car, as he had a late meeting. It wasn't a flattering scene, not for Mr. Fauberg anyway.

Edward handed back the ID and nodded back toward the garage. "This particular model is becoming rare. I can't let just any passerby drive off with it."

"Yes, Leonard likes _rare_," she said acidly. "So…which one is it?" She eyed the Mercedes 300SL and the Austin Healey in the rear of the barn-garage. "The Mercedes?"

"Uh, no," he said, surprised she had been so poorly informed by her husband. "It's the Dodge Charger." He had to point at the Dodge. She didn't know which car it was.

"THIS…this _thing_?" She pointed her briefcase at it, her expression almost disbelieving. "Leonard paid fifteen thousand dollars to fix up this monstrosity? Why would anyone want something so…so ugly?"

Edward's jaw dropped as she spoke. He knew muscle cars were not to everyone's taste, but 'ugly'? And the bill was closer to twenty five thousand. Obviously Mr. and Mrs. Fauberg had a communication problem.

"Infantile! Preening, self-absorbed…" she was muttering under her breath, as she walked slowly around the Dodge. "No mid-life crisis, my ass."

Edward didn't need Jasper's gift to read the hostility.

"Does it go?" she sighed, suddenly resigned.

"Does it _go._" Edward snorted. "Of course it _goes_." _Like a dream._

"Then I'll drive it home."

"Yes," he said, dryly. "You should do that."

"A test drive first, though," she said, as if challenging him. She was intent on finding something wrong, something she could hold over Mr. Fauberg's head.

She spun on her heel, went back to the town car and paid her driver, even after the man asked '_are you sure you want me to leave you here with this guy?_

_I castrate men in the boardroom every day_, was her mental reply. _I am not worried about this boy._ Edward laughed under his breath and opened the driver's side door to the Charger. She only just repressed a feminist rebuke and climbed in, tossing her briefcase in the back.

"Let me show you the hidden features," he said and she jumped. He had appeared in the passenger seat a little too quickly. He needed to curb his desire to demonstrate the value of his work.

"Original air conditioning controls. iPod dock slides out here, GPS here, and the sound system integrated into the original pushbutton design. " He powered up the radio and the clean, ringing tones of a harpsichord filled the car.

"Stop -that's a crime," she said. "J.S. Bach in a Starsky and Hutch car."

"Starsky and Hutch were mid- to late-seventies. This is a 1969 model." Edward pushed a few buttons and a digital radio station played _Love Me Two Times _by the Doors. "Better?"

"Better," she allowed. "Well. Here we go." She turned the engine over. "OH my God. Oh my God. What a rumble!"

"It's a beautiful thing," said Edward, unable to stop his grin. He closed his eyes for a moment, rested his hands on his thighs and just _listened_ as she revved it experimentally.

_MEN. Men and their toys_, she thought, looking over at Edward. _It's all another form of masturbation. _ She pressed the accelerator and they leapt of out the garage and down the drive.

"CAR," said Edward and Mrs Fauberg hit the brakes, lurching to a stop two feet from the front end of Bella's Volvo, just entering the driveway. Bella's pale face shone in the lights of the Dodge.

"Just a minute, if you please," said Edward politely and he alighted from the Dodge. Bella rolled down the window. Her heart was hammering in her chest.

"Hi. Are you okay?" he asked, bending toward her.

"I was startled, that's all. I'm fine."

"Good workday?"

"Um… yeah, fine. That doesn't look like Mr. Fauberg." Bella nodded toward the Dodge.

"It's _Mrs_. Fauberg. She's not exactly taken with the car's _groovy_ stylings. A quick test drive and I'll be back soon."

"You'll win her over," predicted Bella, looking up at his perfect face. "Just don't let her have her wicked cougar way with you."

"The V8 engine will convince her, all on its own." He smiled. "Your wicked ways are the only ones I want. Hey, I was thinking… would you like to rake leaves with me this weekend?"

"I would love to rake leaves with you, Mr. Cullen."

"Then, kiss me, Mrs. Cullen."

"But…Mrs. Fauberg—"

"…Is fiddling with her iPod." He gave Bella a claiming, hungry kiss on the lips, and she could sense the priming of his after-work libido. He suddenly straightened. The Rolling Stones came blaring from the Dodge. "I have something to show you later, my Bella-wife," he whispered.

"Your _literary device_?" she laughed breathlessly, reeling a little from his kiss.

He chuckled. "Well, I wouldn't say no to a _dirimens copulatio_," he said, "but no, this is something for Project Baby Cullen."

"Oh," she said, looking taken aback. "Okay."

&8&

Within the space of twenty minutes, Mrs. Fauberg had become a fan of the muscle car. Or its engine, anyway. She roared noisily down the Saw Mill Parkway, only decelerating at the sharper curves, shouting 'Yeah!' each time she passed another car. This pleased Edward inordinately. Every now and then she would lob a personal question: _who was that in the other car? How old are you? Why aren't you in college? Do you run this business under the advice of an older mentor? _It was the usual disbelief, that someone so young could be so competent. Edward lied credibly and patiently. It was nice not to be lusted after for once. This woman was curiously comparing him to her college-age sons.

By the time they were heading back to Chappaqua, though, her thoughts had turned dark and bitter, all directed at her husband. Edward felt a little sorry for her.

"Tell me why, Anthony," she said, driving quite slowly now through the dark, wooded back roads. "Why do aging men need these toys?" Internally, the _toy _to which she referred was a younger woman at her husband's law firm, not a noisy Dodge Charger.

"Ah, well. Fundamentally, it all comes back to the biological urge to procreate," he said, after a moment. "Though sometimes they simply want _risk_. To feel adrenaline in their veins. To know they are still attractive, still potent. And a loving, long-term companion does not convince. It happens to middle-aged women, too, you know."

She turned her head to stare at him. "Christ, how could you possibly fathom all that, at your age? It was a rhetorical question." She sighed. "Sort of. _" I meant the car_, she said in her head.

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry." Shit, he must stop acting like the mind-reading centenarian he was. Too much time alone in the garage lately, he thought, not enough time pretending to be human. Too many years without the Volturi policing them, too. Edward was getting sloppy.

Mrs. Fauberg soon turned into the driveway. The lights of the living room were on, and Bella could be seen through the wide window of the study; she was typing on her laptop, perhaps googling _dirimens copulatio _andthinking of a good comeback. He enjoyed their games of words and sex.

"Thank you, Anthony," said Mrs. Fauberg, cocking her head to look at Edward. "You've done a fine job with the Dodge Dasher. I think I'll take it for my own. My husband can go and _fuck himself_."

"Dodge _Charger_." He smiled ruefully, eyebrows raised at the bitterness in her profanity.

"Charger," she repeated. She looked over at the house, at Bella's slim figure through the window and wondered how tempting it would be to live with such an appealing young man.

"I live over the garage," said Edward, pointing further down the drive, addressing any suspicions Mrs. Fauberg might foster later. She took him further down the drive and he got out of the car. "Goodbye, Ms. Dinan," he said, using her professional name. "Enjoy the Charger."

"Goodbye, Anthony," she replied, pleased with the respect in his address. "I certainly will."

Edward watched until Mrs. Fauberg peeled out of the end of the driveway. He pitied human women married to human men. It was true that almost all human men over the age of fifty wanted a younger woman. Many…no, most, never acted on it. Some were afflicted with doomed crushes on office girls, while some assholes managed to flatter a younger woman into bed. Some eventually divorced the mother of their children and remarried the younger woman to start another line of heredity. Edward's Edwardian-self clicked his tongue reprovingly. He knew he could never, _ever_ dishonour Bella that way, even if they never changed her.

He walked back up the drive, where his beloved waited. He would show her the spoils of last night's raid at Ferticlinic. His good faith effort toward Project Baby C. He hoped she would be pleased, then would oblige him with a _short story_ on the sofa. His vampire body hummed, needing his Bella.

_**&8&8&8**_

Author's note: my research on DNA issues is not particularly thorough, so I hope I haven't blatantly made incorrect statements.

All reviews and corrections welcome!


	6. Eye on the Prize, Dr Robson

**Chapter six: Eye on the Prize, Dr. Robson**

"They're the donor applications, what else? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because you broke in to Ferticlinic? You broke in." Bella slapped her hand over her eyes. "Breaking and Entering? Was that really necessary?"

"Bella," said Edward, "if Jasper were still alive he could have hacked their database. But he's not. So, yes, I broke in. With data protection laws these days, we would only be privy to limited information about these men." Edward pushed the photocopied forms, a hundred of them, across the kitchen table toward Bella. "Besides, don't you want to know what the sperm donor_ looks_ like?" He flicked the passport-like photograph on the topmost application.

_I already know what he looks like, _she wanted to say. _He looks like you._ She steadied her temper and removed her hand from her eyes. "Yes, yes," she muttered. "We should know everything we can find out. You're right, of course." She had forgotten that she'd have to fake an interest in the sperm donor. All the other business of it, all the _science_, was consuming her energy. And she had to conduct all her communication through her tiny office at Columbia, so Edward wouldn't find out.

Edward sat back in his chair, his forehead crinkled in frustration. "I'm trying to participate here. To show you that I can tolerate the idea of you conceiving a child with some other man."

Bella looked up and softened. Her dear, dear husband, trying to swallow his pride and be helpful. "Edward. I'm having a baby with _you_."

"Doesn't feel like it." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Oh, sweetheart. I'm sorry. Don't think of it as someone else. The child will be ours." She rose and moved to stand between his knees, resting her forearms on his shoulders. "I'm sorry I haven't addressed this particular aspect. I figured you would want to know as little as possible about the donor. You haven't even mentioned looking for one until now. Thank you for trying, but you don't have to trouble yourself with the donor, if it upsets you."

"_Trouble_? It's hugely important, whom we pick." He placed his hand on the stack of applications. "You know as well as I do that our choice of donor is…well, it's half the child!"

He looked at her with some incredulity. He thought she would leap on the information, that she would want to pour over each detail and photograph of the donors. "While we can provide the _nurture_," he continued, "recent research has shown that the _nature_, the pre-programmed DNA of the individual, has an influence on far more than just intelligence, health, and appearance. Disposition and personality are, to an extent, pre-programmed as well. I could potentially stalk these guys and find out what they are like, how they treat others, if they have healthy relationships…" He held his hands out, in an open offer.

Bella knew all this. "You're right. Okay, okay. It's just a bit…overwhelming." She let out a breath. "There are so many. Maybe we… or you… could narrow it down to ten? And then we can discuss those?" She pushed the pile away, to the center of the table, and shrugged.

"All right," he replied, matching her shrug. "Fine. Ten. If they don't meet an acceptable standard for 'our kid', I _will_ be breaking into another donor company."

"Okay," she agreed, laughing a little. "Just… just don't tell me. Cop's daughter, etcetera." She bent at the waist and held him, rubbing his neck, running her fingers through his hair. He pressed his cheek against hers, breathing deeply, inhaling her scent. Eventually she felt the tension leave his hard shoulders. Bella contemplated just telling him the truth. But _oh_, the disappointment if she couldn't make it work. He would brood for a decade. Perhaps the donor search would be a good distraction for him. "What's for dinner?" she whispered. Her stomach growled.

"I didn't prepare any today," he said, almost defiantly. "I didn't feel like it."

She laughed. It looked like he hadn't cleaned up last night's dinner dishes either. "I can't blame you. I don't feel like it either."

She ordered pizza delivery that night, and then cleaned up the dishes herself, something she hadn't done in a while. By the time she was ready for bed, it was midnight and Edward was already online with Alice.

Oh right, Wednesday nights. The ghost-like Alice, a shadow of her former self, skyping from who- knows-where. It broke Bella's heart, to think of the relentless, desperate yearning that Alice must feel for her murdered mate. Bella put her head around the study doorway and listened in for a moment, while Edward repeated numbers so quickly that she couldn't understand them. His expression was sad. Sad and troubled. He was lonely, probably, here alone with his cars and books and piano while she was at work. No Cullen men to hunt with or toss a baseball from across an entire mile. No Rosalie to argue with. No physical therapy patients to assist and no colleagues to confer with anymore. His auto rebuilding business was growing, but contact with the clients was limited to drop off and pick up. Bella resolved to pay him a more attention. Her short stories could wait, even if Project Baby Cullen couldn't.

She blew him a kiss goodnight, and he looked up and smiled.

"Bella," came Alice's voice from the screen. Edward sat back in his chair, surprised.

"Bella," called Alice again. She hadn't asked to speak to Bella in a year. This hurt a little, that Alice had chosen Edward alone as her only continued contact. Bella had suffered disappointment, along with worry and grief, since her best friend's self-imposed exile.

"I'm here, Alice." Bella stepped into the room.

Edward shifted his laptop screen and Alice's face came into view. Her chin was in her hand and she had a smear of brown on her forehead. Dried blood? Thank goodness her eyes were still gold. Not red. _Alice, poor Alice. I miss you._

"Hello." Bella was afraid to say much. Edward had told her that nearly every topic of normal conversation was banned. It seemed cold to not even ask 'how are you?' Edward pulled Bella down, so that she was perched on his knee.

"He's no good, you know," said Alice. She looked into the distance, at some spot behind Bella's right ear. "Phil. He'll get you what you want, but it could be… c-could be… w-will be… at a cost."

Bella felt the blood drain from her face. "Thanks for letting me know," she whispered. She rose, with slow and studied care, and headed for the study door.

"Just a second," said Edward, to Alice. Then he was behind Bella, picking up her hand. She turned.

"Phil? Renee's Phil?" he asked, concern written all over his face.

Oh. Her stepfather. A different Phil. Bella shrugged. "I guess."

"That's more than a second," said Alice, her ghostly voice coming from the laptop. Edward stared a moment longer at Bella, clutching her hand. Then he was back at the computer and the figures began again.

8&8&8&

Edward punched in Irina's number. Reluctantly. He'd been trying to avoid blondes, in general. Even over the phone.

"_Bueno_?"

"Hello, Irina."

"Edward Cullen, _cielos_, it's been a while."

"Not that long, really, relatively speaking. Are you well?"

"_Khorosho_, now that I am coven-less, thank you. I'm busy bedding all the nineteen-year old _guapos_ in Costa Rica. One at a time. Usually."

"Say no more, please. Listen, I want to know if you or Kate were in Atlanta in the last six months."

"No. South America, both of us."

"I see. Can you recall, please, if you have told other vampires about Bella and me?"

"Pfft. I don't want the Volturi on your pretty _nalgas_, Edward. I keep my mouth closed. She's still human, isn't she?"

"Yes, still."

"And still your wife?"

"Yes. _Of course_."

"Don't sound so indignant. Isn't it time for the classic human _seven-year-itch_?"

"No."

"She's what, almost thirty? You must look like a_ niño_ to her by now.

"No, I don't. I really don't want to hear this. Tanya used to plague me with similar warnings."

"_Boje moy_, don't mention the evil and departed, or I will hang up."

Edward chuckled at her intermix of three languages. "All right. What about Kate? She can be…ah, _chatty_. Is it possible she has mentioned us to vampires who might have been travelling in the southern states?"

"_Dios mio_, Edward, how would I know? She is in Chile somewhere."

"I thought it worth asking," he sighed. "I was approached by a vampire last week. She is seeking a human woman who, it is claimed, dominates a vampire. This pair might be mistaken for Bella and me, and we don't need any undue attention, frankly. Now I am looking for the source of this rumor, originating in Atlanta. Could it be misinterpreted by something you or Kate said?"

"Nothing to do with me, _lubknik_."

"Fine. Good. Thanks so much for your concern."

"Is that sarcasm, lover-boy?"

"You goad me into it, Irina. Every time we speak."

"Well, when Bella leaves you, and I come around to seduce your devastated self, I'll be sure to keep my mouth shut until after the sex."

"Goodbye, Irina."

"_Dosvidanya_, Edward. _Muchos besos._ Give your coven my love, and, of course, my continued sympathies to Alice."

8&8&8&8&

"This will make it legal, Isabella." He liked saying her name. He liked looking at her, too. She was as pale as any British girl. And as reserved. Such lustrous brown hair. He wanted to pull out that clip and watch it fall to her shoulders.

"Because it is considered research?"

"Exactly. The government won't interfere. You sign here. And here."

"Give me a day or two to read the document." Bella swallowed and squinted at the paragraphs, as if squinting would make the legal and technical language more clear.

"And…your completion donor?"

She sighed. "I'm working on it."

_I could be your donor_, he just stopped himself from saying. Academics who acted as guinea pigs in their own research were either lauded or ridiculed. Lauded only if the gamble paid off. Again, he almost said it: _let me be your donor_. Instead he said: "You know, Isabella. There are much easier ways to get pregnant."

She jerked her head up and fixed him with a fierce stare.

Phil didn't quail. He wanted this as much as she did. The chances of failure were high, though, and women could be so precious and_ irrational_ about their bodies. She seemed determined and discreet, physically young but psychologically mature; she was a good candidate. "Your husband will need to sign it too."

"He will?" Her head dropped back to the document. "Yes. Okay. He is out of town at the moment. I'll make…I'll make arrangements."

Phil didn't press her. He wondered exactly what her _always-on-tour_ husband knew about his wife's intentions. Maybe it was best he didn't know. Yes, the less interference, the better. Isabella could fake the signature, for all he cared. All Phil wanted was the DNA.

And to touch Isabella's hair. _No, Dr. Robson_, he scolded himself. Keep your eye on the prize. _Eye on the prize._

8&8&

Forgive me readers, if I don't respond to reviews for the next two weeks. Exams and end of term projects consume me! I will try and respond to all of you at the end of the month – so don't feel your review is unappreciated. I ADORE YOU, reviewers.

Spanish:

Bueno – means 'good', but is used for 'hello' on the phone

Cielos – heavens

Nalgas – butt cheeks

Guapos – good looking men

Nino – child

Besos – kisses

Russian:

Lubnik – term of endearment

Dosvidanya – until we meet again (or something)

The others are exclamations, like My God, etc.


	7. Texts and Calls

_Hello – sorry I'm a day late. Added stuff at the last minute, as you do._

_A reviewer asked how Tanya died. That's another story – An Abridged Account. She was quite a gal. _

_So is The Donor a sequel, you may ask? (Some have.) Yes, sortof. He's using his teeth in this story, you may have noticed. _

**Chapter Seven: Texts and Calls**

_Bee-zinng_. Edward's cheap, temporary phone, sitting on the roof of the newly acquired, disastrously neglected Ferrari in his garage. _Bee-zing_, _bee-zing_, intermittently throughout the week. And today, again:

_Cullenajo._

… …

_Cullenajo. Hey-ya._

… …

_Whatcha got for me, Cullenajo? Im dyng here._

… …

_Cullenajo!_

… …

_Omg, you better not of given me a fake number._

… …

_Is this a fake number?_

**No**.

_Omg, your 'alive'.  
JOKE! :P :P_

… …

_Why dont you answer my texts?_

**Because your evangelism is tedious.**

_Havermosa is The Way and The Light._

… …

_Ok,ok, ill stop. HAVE YOU FOUND OUT ANYTHING YET?_

**Rumors. Let's reconvene and I'll tell you what I've learned.**

_OMFG I KNEW SHE WAS REAL TOLDYA CAN WE MEET THIS VERY INSTANT? At columbia student union café I can be there in like five minutes okay maybe ten._

**No. Next Thursday, ten am, Battery Park.**

_Thursday? thats forever from now Omg your so cold.  
JOKE! :P :P_

… …

_Wheres battery park?_

**Southern tip of Manhattan. I'll find you.**

_Guess what I havent eaten anyone since I saw you last._

… …

_Not a nibble._

**Very good. See you Thursday**.

"…as far away from Bella's classroom as possible," he murmured. "No joke." Edward chuckled. Tia was perhaps the silliest vampire he had met in a long time.

8&8&8&

Bella brushed her hair in front of the hallway mirror, though she wasn't looking in it. She was lost in thought, weighted down by all she kept secret. It was supposed to be a nice surprise. It _would_ be. It was the journey that was so unbearably complicated.

Phil had insisted on taking her out for lunch yesterday. He had ordered wine. (At lunch. These _Europeans_.) He was giddy with excitement, and she had found it contagious. She had nearly choked on her Pellegrino (no wine for a working woman, thank you), though, when he had raised his glass and said '_To Edward Masen'_.

Coming home last night, Bella had to suppress Phil's news, to tuck it in some secure compartment in her mind, some sober-coated box that prevented her observant husband from asking: '_What's up with you_?' She was used to sharing her disappointments and triumphs with Edward. She couldn't even tell Alice. Bella felt quite alone.

She sighed and worked her hair up into her hand, smoothing and gathering for a tidy knot.

_Buh-duh, buh-duh,duh,duh…_

Bella jumped. Edward's iPhone, sitting on the hall table, rang out with that song from 'The Italian Job' (the old one, naturally). Edward had set up his phone with indicative ring tones that identified the person, or the source of the call. He must have a hundred different ring tones, all of which he had no trouble keeping straight. Most were electronic tunes, but he also chose the occasional song. Carlisle or Esme (living in Munich) was represented by _Lili Marlene_ by Marlena Dietrich, old friends in Denver were all assigned _Your Wild Colorado_ by Johnny Cash. Rosalie was _The Bitch is Back._

Bella set the clip in her hair and contemplated answering his phone. Edward was in the shower, after his night-long hunt.

Could this be Alice, now in Europe? Or some appalling, menacing Volturi member?

Just as she reached toward it to look at the screen, Edward appeared, clutching a towel around his waist and dripping water onto the floor.

"Pronto? Si, si, salve, Matteo, come sta? " And off he went, in rhythmic Italian. He even gestured a little.

Bella caught the word 'Ferrari', which somehow sounded even more extravagant when said with an Italian accent. Ah, car parts from Italy. She slipped under his elbow and put her arm around his waist. Edward was several degrees warmer than usual, the result of a few minutes under the hot water. It was worth getting her skirt and blouse a little wet.

His eyes met hers in the mirror and he smiled with affection. _How much_, he was asking his caller now.

Bella leaned into his shoulder, rubbing one hand over his bare abdomen and up over his chest, her eyes lingering on the two of them, husband and wife, in the mirror. He looked all of nineteen or twenty and she looked…well, she looked her age, twenty nine.

Edward moved her in front of him, and put one arm around her waist, holding her flush, so that her body was the only thing holding up his towel. She giggled softly and reached around to feel if his ass was exposed. It was. He smirked and moved his hand down to her hip bone, where he stayed for a moment, the pads of his fingers moving in slow circles. All this while ordering car parts over the phone. Italian numbers ('tre ottantacinque!' he bargained) were suddenly very, very sexy.

A minute later Edward hung up, dropped the phone to the table and wrapped his arms around her.

"_Rimani con me_," he whispered. "Stay with me. Don't go to Columbia. You're not teaching today anyway."

"No, but I…" Bella frowned. She'd told Phil that she would contact Wei Ling today, to pass on all the contact information for the donor. Bella supposed she could sneak in an email from home. This donor needed to be handled with some delicacy, though, and Wei was only a young grad student; a poor bedside manner could scare the man off for good.

"I…I have research to do. I need to write."

"Write at home today," he murmured, gathering up the front of her skirt. "Like you used to. Most of _A Long Piece of Road_ was written in our bed, in various states of undress, with me beside you."

"Oh, Edward," she said, not wanting to disappoint him.

"_Per favore_," he urged, his eyes boring into hers in the mirror. He cupped her sex through her underwear and reached up with the other hand to release the clip in her hair. "_Per favorrrrrre," _he begged, rolling his _r'_s. "We don't have to make love," he added, somewhat desperately. He moved his hand out from her skirt as if to prove his statement, and put his nose in her hair. "You write; I'll be good. _Prometto_. I promise." His erection begged to differ, a steel rod against her ass.

She laughed, though it came out like a rough cry. "I think a little _peripeteia_ is just what my day needs," she replied, taking his hand and putting it back under her skirt.

This was both a _yes _to staying home all day, and a _yes_ to sex. A peripeteia was an unexpected turn of events. She ended up lifting her knee onto the table as he fucked her carefully from behind. His eyes pinned her in the mirror the whole time, unblinking, as if he could see right through everything.

&8&8&

Edward slowed his approach to the park bench, which looked out to the Statue of Liberty. He suppressed a snort. The ridiculous vampire was attempting to file her nails. It wasn't for show, nor to fit in. She was actually trying, her thoughts focused on _technique_. Fine metal filings were coming off instead.

"Greetings, Cullenajo," said Tia excitedly. She sat up, posture ramrod.

"_Anthony_ will suffice." He brushed a few fallen leaves off the bench and sat down.

"Well?" she asked, clasping her hands together.

"There is no such couple here in New York City. I've asked around," he lied. "Someone said it was one of those urban myths, that had been floating around for a deca—"

"No, no," she interrupted, "I'm sure they said New York."

"They had gone west, the story goes," he continued sternly, "as New York City had too many Volturi spies. They may have joined the _Cullenajo_ group you keep mentioning."

"Haven't you heard the latest on the Volturi?" She leaned toward him, grinning. "Aros is like, totally distracted by the Chinese Tongy-dudes. I think we're going to get away with all kinds of naughty now!" She punched Edward playfully in the arm. Her familiarity bordered on the embarrassing.

They stopped talking for a minute as a group of heavily wrapped tourists walked by.

"His name is _Aro_, and you shouldn't underestimate him," Edward resumed. The word for the Chinese Vampire elite was _Tǒngzhì zhě_, but the correction would be wasted on Tia. "Anyway. Everyone that I asked thought it implausible."

"_What_ was implausible?" She tilted her head. Like a Labrador. No, a Spaniel of some sort. A blonde Spaniel. Edward tried to keep a straight face.

"Keep up, Tia. That a vampire could be dominated by a human."

Tia narrowed her eyes at Edward and instantly dismissed his disbelief. Like a conspiracy theorist or a believer of Roswell's aliens, she had decided that all skepticism was simply denial of 'the truth'. "He_ loves_ her," said Tia fiercely. "He can't help it."

Edward didn't argue. His own love for Bella was helpless. Urgent. Consuming. His heart and mind ached with it sometimes.

"However," he pressed on after a moment, wanting to set the agenda that he and Carlisle had discussed, "the Cullen vampire you seek is in Wisconsin. "He and his coven now go by the name of Clausen, or something similar, to fit in with the Norwegian descendants of Vernon County. The coven mimics humans and lives successfully among them without detection. And…" he leaned forward, to add a smattering of drama that would appeal to Tia, "they only admit golden-eyed vampires as members." This was all a complete fabrication, of course. There were thousands of similar Norwegian names in Wisconsin, and not one was a vampire, that he and Carlisle knew of, anyway.

"OH my GOD, that sounds a_ma_zing." She wagged her head back and forth, in awe, curls bouncing. Then she drew out a cigarette and lit it. "But dontcha see?" she said, thinking hard now and taking a drag. She blew the smoke out slowly out the side of her mouth. "First I've gotta find Havermosa."

Edward shook his head; his persuasive charms were clearly out of practice. "And what will you do if you find her?"

"Ohmigod, WORSHIP her, obviously."

"Hah." Tia was truly ridiculous. "Right. Can you be more specific?"

She seemed to think this was a really funny question. "Annnthony!" Tia was yuk-yukking in a cartoon laugh. "She'll, like, totally tell me what to do."

"Tia," he said patiently, "have you considered simply following your conscience, as Clausen would do? You don't need Havermosa, in order to respect human life."

She blinked. "My conscience? You've got some awesome ideas, Anthony, truly. But we're _vampires_. And the name is Cullen."

"Cullensen, Clausen, whatever. Carl will point the way," he insisted. "If there is such a human – a woman that can dominate a vampire –he'll know about it. Go check it out."

She peered at him through her lashes. "You trying to get rid of me, Anthony?"

"Maybe. Maybe I want to be the only pious one around here." He smiled.

She sucked on her cigarette for a little while, imagining herself approaching the Clausen/Cullen Coven. Like many novitiates, she didn't consider the danger. It was no wonder so many never made it past a twenty year anniversary. Edward looked out to the water, but his mind was focused on Tia's thoughts. Not once did they turn to Columbia University, nor to the class or cafe where she had first found Edward. _Good_. He relaxed and the two of them sat in silence, just watching the tourists.

It was good to get out and practice being human for a few hours.

She gasped suddenly, her little mind lighting up with an idea. "ANTHONY. We should go _together_! You could meet Cullen, too, or whatever the hell his name is, and I'll bet you could show me how to do the big game, right? 'Cause cats and dogs are like, the only meals in Manhattan. I don't do rats."

"Um, me either. Thanks, but no thanks." He stood, ready to see her off. "I have commitments." He gestured northward, vaguely.

"Are you surrrrre? We could fuck in the day, travel at night. No gooey 'mate' stuff, though." She gave his crotch area an appraising look. "I give awesome head, I've been told."

"Subtle," he replied, startled at this unexpected line of thinking in her be-ribboned head. "I'll pass, thank you. Well." He pointed at her cigarette, which would be burning a human's fingers by now. "Good luck on your search."

She stabbed it out and gave a huge, dramatic sigh. "Thanks. I'm determined, ya know? Maybe we can fuck when I get back, huh?" She picked up her nail file and looked up at him.

But he was already gone.

**8&8&8**

Edward had a newfound appreciation for his departed hacker brother, Jasper. These endeavors required patience. The illegal software – downloaded via Jasper's old laptop, updated via a Romanian peer-to-peer connection – was doing its thing, if slowly. Edward was boldly sitting in the Silent Study Zone, second floor, of his victim, the Butler Library at Columbia University. The blue tracker bar moved at a snail's pace.

Hah, _password generated_.

Shit, in Chinese. Mandarin, actually. Fine. He could do this.

Edward summoned a memory straight from 1958, when he and Carlisle decided they wanted to learn Mandarin, Carlisle because he wanted to go to China as an aid worker, and Edward because the language intrigued him. Once Carlisle departed, Edward had abandoned his study, but he could easily recall the letters and numbers.

_And I'm in. _ Edward gave his brother a mental nod of gratitude, thinking that Jasper might be out there in heaven somehow, looking out for them.

Now, the task at hand: _Phil, Phil, Phil_.

Bella had a student named Philomena, but Alice had distinctly said 'he'. _He'll get you what you want, but it could be…will be…at a cost. _

There were eighty-two Phillips on the Columbia University payroll. None were in Bella's department. None were maintenance staff that might she might encounter, nor administrative employees attached to her department.

So he would have to look beyond her department. School of Architecture: one Dr. Phillip Vadis. It was possible she encountered _Phil_s every day, but simply didn't know their names. Edward raised his phone and snapped a quick picture of his laptop screen. It was an ID shot, not flattering, but fairly clear. He attached the photo to a text: _Hello sweet. Know this guy's face?_

_Zrrring. _Bella's phone vibrated, on the other side of the carrel. She snorted and met Edward's eyes over the top. Bella was working on a short story and had asked if Edward wanted to join her at the library, while she did some fact-checking. The unpacked boxes could wait, the disassembled Ferrari engine could stay in pieces another day. It was an attempt to cheer him up, to spend time together, though she had not presented it to him that way. They had been playing a slow, teasing game of footsie for the last hour, feet hidden from the chance observation of any of Bella's students or colleagues. It felt nice.

_Well? _ he asked with his eyes.

She shook her head _no_. "_Why?" _she mouthed.

_Tell you in a minute, _he texted. _ More coming._

He sent her four more images of _Phillip_s, in quick succession, from the School of Arts and Sciences. He included one from her department, an _Adam_, just to see if she was really looking at them.

"Yes," she whispered softly. Edward could hear the faintest of whispers. "That's Adam Martle; he's my Department Head. What are you doing?"

_Looking for someone_, he texted back.

He proceeded to send her eight more ID shots of men she'd never seen before.

_NO I DON'T KNOW THEM EITHER _she texted in shouty capitals. _I NEED TO FOCUS HERE._

_Okay, Ms. I.M. Swan. You look adorable when angry-texting._

She giggled and looked up. His eyes were crinkled in a smile.

Bella feigned admonishment and pointed to her work. He nodded with exaggerated acquiescence. They both smiled and she returned to her documents.

Oh God, this disaster of a short story. She scanned her recent paragraphs, with a view toward credibility. Her tale was set in a near-future scenario and included ideas approaching science fiction. Her premise would touch on DNA manipulation, she'd decided. It could also serve as a convenient alibi, if the situation arose.

_Oh, BTW,_ she texted, five minutes later, _that very same_ _Dr. Martle is throwing a department Christmas party in a few weeks. I would like you to escort me, even as my nephew._

_I would be honoured, beautiful Auntie B._

Bella sighed and returned to an article on stem cell research in front of her.

She nudged his foot, after another fifteen minutes. It was not easy to be so dishonest, right here in front of her husband. She couldn't focus after all.

She peered over the top of the carrel. _What is darkening your brow, Mr. Cullen?_ she texted him.

_My efforts bear scant fruit, Mrs. Cullen._

_What ARE you doing?_

_Looking for the mysterious Phil that Alice mentioned._

Bella rose to her feet, gulped, and sat down again. She texted as quickly as she could.

_Really Edward, it's not necessary. Stop spending your time on something so negative. I am sure Alice was referring to someone like a dishwasher repair man, who is going to overcharge us when he sees your vintage Mercedes in the driveway. I thought you were planning on exploring the rare book collection here, which is supposed to be fabulous. Alice's visions are utterly mundane these days, and you need to stop obsessing over my safety._

Bella pushed 'send'.

She saw the top of his head, slowly rising to look at her. One eyebrow was cocked to the sky.

She bent her head to her journal and willed her heart rate back down. Her phone buzzed.

_Duly noted._

8&8&8

Next week's chapter will likely be on Thursday as I have a deadline for college projects. All was written before, but I like to go over it one last time and tweak. Will respond to reviews then too. Thanks for your patience!

Camilla, let me know if my Italian is incorrect!


	8. Mine Mine Mine

**A nice long chapter for you. Thank you for waiting. **

**Some last minute stuff written; hope there are no typos or inconsistencies.**

**Chapter Eight: Mine Mine Mine**

The little boy had a pacifier in his mouth, and he was _working_ it. His eyes were big and round and he stared as if dumbfounded.

"Someone is looking at you," said Bella, nudging Edward. They were in line at the grocery checkout.

"Mm, I know. It's best if I don't look back. His mother looks harried enough without a shrieking child ruining her morning," Edward added discreetly. The woman was plucking particular things from her cart, and appeared to be adding up the total, mouthing numbers and looking worried.

"But you know how to do it now," Bella said, at his shoulder. "How not to scare people." Edward had come to the startling conclusion, one evening in Denver after a night out with their friends, that with Bella's help, and with the influence of love, he had become likable to humans. It had been quite a revelation.

"Grown people. Children's reactions are much more instinctive, with no social or cultural repression."

An unspoken question rose between them. A question that Bella hadn't even considered until now. Was he worried that his own child wouldn't like him?

Bella looked back to the toddler, who was only just managing the fine art of balancing upright in the seat of a grocery cart. Please, she pleaded silently. Smile at my husband. Don't tip his worry in the wrong direction.

"He's still interested. Have a look," she whispered, then wondered if she would regret this. She didn't want Edward to take it as a definitive litmus test. She put her hand over his, though they were supposed to be playing nephew and aunt, here in public.

He turned his head, slowly toward the child. He looked at the boy's feet, at his chubby hands gripping the bar.

Edward gave a little snort, when his eyes met the boy's face. The kid was sucking on his pacifier at ninety miles an hour. "He still breastfeeds," Edward whispered. "He'd like some, right now."

"Dazzle him gently," advised Bella. "Not all at once, like you did the first time you smiled at me. More like a Mrs. Cope approach."

"Mrs. Cope was far less discriminating than this child," murmured Edward. "Junior here can spot insincerity a mile away." Edward was bringing a slow smile to his face, and Bella realized that she actually hadn't seen him smile herself in a week or so. Not really.

The boy jerked a little, uncertain now. It was fifty/fifty, thought Bella. It could go either way. She glanced back at Edward, who was working his eyes now too.

A low ahhh came from the boy, from behind his pacifier.

"Aaaahhhhhmmmm," he said, and the pacifier fell.

Suddenly Edward was there, catching it. He straightened and now stood looking down at the boy. The mother had turned to stare now too, as Edward held out the pacifier, a genuine smile on his face.

Both mother and child practically swooned.

**8&8&8&**

They were the picture of domestic calm. Edward, reading the latest Booker Prize-winning novel, posture relaxed, his feet propped on the ottoman next to hers. Bella on her laptop, working on her final lectures for the term, pulling out exemplary passages from various novels of the last thirty years– all very pleasant work.

But in reality Bella was juggling.

Juggling, juggling, juggling. Her class preparation, her writing (barely), her fertility, her husband.

"I dispatched a vampire the other day," said Edward quietly, still reading. (He could multi-task.) "A novitiate."

"WHAT?" replied Bella in alarm. She grabbed his forearm. "What do you mean, _dispatched_?"

"I mean: I convinced the vampire to leave the tri-state area. I was being pestered. I took care of it." He turned the page.

"Oh God. Pestered _threatened_ or pestered _bothered_?"

"Not threatened. Don't worry, sweet. While Manhattan is far from vampire-free, at least there is one less on the island now." His eyes lingered on her for a moment, then flicked back to his book.

"But-" Bella's laptop made an instant message notification beep, and she nearly leapt from the sofa. Then she remembered that she was on her personal user account. Not her college one. It wasn't Phil, nor a German fertility specialist, nor a Chinese doctoral student.

"Your editor," observed Edward.

_-Hey, are you ever going to send me your drafts? _said the instant message on Bella's laptop. From Laura, Bella's editor who lived on the west coast.

_Shit_. She couldn't write lately. Not with so many balls in the air. The timescales were short now; decisions would have to be made, there were multiple people involved. Payments to be made, labwork that needed her signature. The stress was as disabling as writer's block.

She pulled her laptop closer and typed: _Not yet, Laura. Not ready for your critical eye._

The reply was quick:

_-SEND ME YOUR DRAFTS. Working out of home is driving me crazy. I need your grownup prose. My vocab is rapidly diminishing to that of a two year old!_

While Bella tried to compose a deliberately casual, reassuring reply, a photo appeared in the IM box. Laura's daughter, a redheaded and freckled little girl, holding a wooden spoon over a mixing bowl. Her mouth was completely covered in chocolate batter.

Edward noticed. "Well. That's cute." He chuckled and stretched his arm out on the sofa behind Bella, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

This little gesture of support and amusement made her want to cry out with yearning. Would they ever get there, chuckling at their own little adorable tyke?

And how badly she wanted it all to be over. Correction: how badly she wanted to be _pregnant_. That would only be the beginning.

"Wouldn't it be amazing if our child were a redhead?" she murmured.

Edward went very still. "That would require particular versions of the gene MC1R."

"Gene MC1R?" echoed Bella. She didn't realize Edward was so up-to-date in his knowledge of genetic sequencing and coding. In the twelve years she had known him, the only specialty in medicine he had pursued was physical therapy. Muscles and bones and nerves. Not genetics. Any specialist medical knowledge was out of date. Or so she thought.

"From both parents," he added.

She dared a glance at his face. He was making _that_ expression. The stoic one that stabbed at her conscience. _She should tell him._ Put him out of his misery. This was surely 'the price' to which Alice referred: Edward's prolonged suffering.

_Tell him. Just do it._ But he might just put a stop to it all.

He withdrew his arm and rose from the sofa.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"I'll let you converse with your editor," he said. "I'm going to do the dishes." He held his head high and disappeared into the kitchen.

**8&8**

Edward was anxious to confirm that Tia had truly departed. While Bella was visiting Forks for Thanksgiving, he took a few days to track Tia's scent as far as western Pennsylvania – easy to follow in the fresh, late autumn air – and then he considered the whole 'blonde' matter closed (or at least postponed). He was optimistic that Tia would find some new melodramatic quest to pursue – or that she would succumb to the temptation to eat a human. (Sorry, Carlisle).

He paused at a lake in New Jersey to toss the 'cheap' phone into the water – then froze just before releasing it from his fingers. He hoped to never encounter the nutty blonde vampire again… and yet….

He powered it down and pocketed it. He would stash it in a drawer of spark plugs in the garage.

Once he was back home, he spent the next twenty four hours hacking into the computers of Writtle Publishing to see if Bella would encounter any _Phil_s at the Chicago conference. Edward would not admit to himself how much Bella's response at the library had disturbed him.

By Saturday night, Edward had fallen into a state of constant restlessness. This was not uncommon when he and Bella spent some days apart, as it was _just not natural_ for a vampire to be separated from his mate. He drove his '67 Vanquish up across the Canadian border until he reached the snowy wilderness north of Ottawa. He skidded through hairpin turns of unplowed roads, shouting like Mrs. Fauberg, until the momentum of one particularly challenging turn took the car plunging off the road into the snow. Unhurt (of course), he stripped the car of its identification and left it there to rot.

On the way home he hunted the _Rangifer tranandus_, a Caribou species that he knew perfectly well was on the Endangered species list. He reached home by Sunday's dawn, and spent an hour soaking underwater in the bathtub, seeking some semblance of calm. To little avail.

Bella, in Forks, cooked meals, numbed her mind on football and reality TV (Sue was addicted), drank beer in some loggers' dive of a bar with Seth and his new wife, only barely listening to news of Jake and his three children, and then came home and burst into tears in front of Charlie.

She couldn't explain.

Bella returned Sunday night with three extra pounds on her frame and a demonstrative, clinging affection. She molded her body into Edward's embrace at the luggage carousel and told him how much she missed him. She did not see the relief in his eyes.

He asked, almost politely, if they could 'read in bed' when they got home. This meant sex. _Well, of course, _she answered, watching his fingers grip the steering wheel.

She also did not notice, as they made their way to the bedroom, that the pile of donor profiles on the dining table was down to ten. He snarled at them, nice and low so that Bella could not hear.

She had to tie him to the bedposts that night. He was ferocious. And fabulous.

**8&8&8&**

Edward stalked through the back door while she was eating breakfast.

"Good morning, sweetheart," she greeted him.

"Morning," he growled, his face drawn together in a scowl. He shed his wet clothes, right by the door, taking off everything.

Bella stared, her spoon of bran flakes aloft in the air. "Oh, oh my. Honey, you look positively wild. What did you eat, a Spruce tree?"

"A Grizzly," he said curtly, as he passed naked through the kitchen. "Male and ornery. Canadian."

**8&8&8&**

Edward was bent over the chassis, his chest down, his ass in the air. Bella took a moment to enjoy the perfection of his shape, next to the perfection of the vintage Ferrari. Two works of art, one draped over the other.

"What…what are all these?" she asked, bewildered. "On the floor?"

"Tools," he answered, from inside the gaping mouth of the car.

"But they're all… mangled."

"They displeased me."

She pulled her cardigan around her, shivering in the cold air of the garage.

_&8&8&_

"Beautiful. I'm so impressed, really, really impressed." The man walked round and round the car, running his hand along the waxed and polished body of the Ferrari. "And how much do I owe you?"

Edward looked at the man, at his Tag Heuer watch and his sideburns peppered with grey. The trophy wife (his second) waited in the cold, standing by their Range Rover, texting a friend. _OMG you should see the kid who fixed up a ferrari for stephen HAWT I think I need an old camaro stat. With a car seat, LOL._

She was twenty seven, Edward guessed. Heavily pregnant with the man's child. Edward suddenly loathed the man.

Edward added an extra thousand, just like that. "That will be twenty two thousand four hundred and eight dollars." Edward clicked 'print' on his ipad and the printer churned out the invoice.

"Christ, that's expensive," laughed the man. "But worth it. You've got a knack, you know? A real talent." He passed over his debit card. He watched while Edward processed the payment.

"How old are you, exactly?" the man asked, while he guessed _twenty one_ in his head.

_A hundred and seventeen._ "Twenty four," improvised Edward. Consistency was important for a long term residency anywhere, but there was no way he was going to say_ nineteen and by the way I'm Isabella M. Swan's nephew _to this guy.

The man shook his head, laughing again. "Twenty-four," he muttered. "Jesus. You look even younger."

&8&8&

"Mine. _Mine_."

Edward stood upright, thrusting into Bella. The kitchen table creaked on its sturdy pine legs and her orange juice threatened the rim of the glass. He had kissed her neck and cupped her breast through her freshly pressed work blouse. She had let out a single, breathy moan, then suddenly she was on her back with her underwear and pantyhose on the floor. No literary wordplay today.

"Easy, Edward," she gasped, wondering if they should move to the bedroom and the wrist ties again. "Of course I'm yours."

"What?" he asked, pausing and opening his eyes. "Pardon?"

"You keep saying 'mine'. Over and over again."

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Because you are mine," he said, darkly. From the kitchen, he could see straight through to the dining room, where the pile of donor profiles had been reduced to three. Smug little shits, all of them. Ivy league, tall, athletic. (Want musical talent? A knack for languages? Only another £4950!). One of the three was red-headed, a special treat, just for Bella.

"You are mine," he repeated once again. "My lover. My mate. My wife." _I would impregnate you if I could. If only I could. _He resumed his movements, more gently now, using his right hand to caress her. She would fall apart, arch her back and cry out; he was good at this. She would go to Columbia this morning sated and awash with his scent. His left hand kept a firm grip on her thigh.

_Mine_.

8&8&8&

The scent was well known to him. It was on her winter coat, hanging on a peg in the hall. He put his nose to the wool merino. She had clearly been to a medical facility today.

"Bella. Sweet." She was dozing on the sofa, her laptop and her short story set to the side. He knelt at her feet, reluctant to wake her. She had conducted her office hours today, she'd said, and the students had stayed long beyond, lined up in the hall, concerned about their pending final assignment.

"Did you hurt yourself?" He felt her ankles for swelling or irregularities, but she did not stir. Bella's clumsiness hadn't improved much since her teen years. She tripped and fell 2.23 times per month, on average, up from the 1.75 college average when she wore sneakers every day. (Edward had tracked this little statistic in his mind over the last ten years, one of the hobbies of a mathematically-inclined vampire.)

When he started feeling her wrists and hands, she awoke. "What are you doing?" she mumbled. "I'm not up for sex tonight."

He shook his head and chuckled. "Just checking you for injuries. You've been inside a medical clinic today, haven't you?"

"Uh, yeah," she allowed, unable to come up with a credible alternate answer. His touched her with such tender concern. He was running his hands up her forearms now, over her sweater sleeves. He would discover it anyway once she removed her sweater at bedtime; there was no hiding a breach of her skin. Not from his fingers nor his nose. "I…I gave a blood sample," she said, touching the inside crook of her elbow.

Edward drew back. "Oh? Why? To whom?"

"To the fertility clinic. You know, as a baseline sort of thing. Before they get started."

"Before they get started," he repeated, frowning . "Why didn't you tell me? I would have come along. We could have told them I was a friend, accompanying you." He sounded hurt, in that last particular sentence.

She nodded. "Yes, you're right. I didn't think of that. I…I thought they might recoil at the idea of my nephew accompanying me to a fertility clinic." Her eyes welled suddenly with tears. It was an outright lie this time. Outright. What had this come to? She was telling little lies to the man she loved. Little lies to support the big lie.

He pulled her into his arms. "Fuck what they think, Bella. As long as they don't think 'vampire', who cares? At some point in this strange sort of existence, you have to stop caring what everyday people think of you. Especially those you may never see again."

"Okay," she whispered against the collar of his shirt. 'Okay. I'll try." She sniffled, then yawned. He passed her a tissue.

Bella blew her nose loudly. "I think I'll go to bed," she said. "I'm so tired." Deception was exhausting.

"Let me carry you." He scooped her up.

He undressed her with care, then undressed himself, and they lay in bed on their backs, side to side with her leg over his, her head tucked under his arm. She tried not to be tearful and he tried not to get aroused. (Vampire libido was a bitch, appearing every single time he and Bella got horizontal together.)

Bella asked for music, and he hit the play button, not even checking what was on. Blues guitar yoewed and wahwahed through their speakers at low volume, a slow thump of drum beat filling the air.

"What is this?" asked Bella, through a long yawn.

"Eric Clapton and Buddy Guy," he replied. "_Don't know which way to go_. "

_Fitting_, he thought.

_Fitting_, she also thought.

"So…" he began, "when you said 'before they get started', did you mean _you_ are ready to get started? With the insemination?"

"Nearly," she whispered. Except it was going to be IVF. She had yet to think of a reason she could give him for abandoning insemination without even a trial. So she hadn't told him. "I think. Are you ready?"

He closed his eyes. "Nearly."

"You're still going with Emmett to Nova Scotia after Christmas, right?"

He opened his eyes. "Maybe. Depends on how you're doing."

"You should go," she said firmly. "Even if I'm pregnant."

"Are you still going to the writer's conference in Chicago?" he countered. " Even if you're pregnant?"

"Yes, definitely."

It took a huge effort to say: "Okay." He really wanted her just to stay here, in the circle of his arms. All the time. It was ridiculous, he knew.

He wanted to make it better. Bring her around again to herself. And to him. This thing, this huge fucking sperm thing sat like a wedge between them. Bella probably didn't think so. This distance was likely something in his own mind, entirely of his invention. He really needed to stop being an ego-centric vampire and act like a good human husband. A good father-to-be.

She stared at their ceiling. "Edward."

"Mm?"

"I know this has been hard on you. The insemination, the sperm donor business. It is completely counterintuitive to your vampire nature. You've been… you've been more than understanding."

"Thank you for acknowledging that," he said softly. His dead heart ached, over too many reasons to name.

"I think you're going to be glad. You _will_ be glad." She found his hand, squeezed it. In that one hopeful squeeze were all her apologies for all her lies. "You've got to trust me."

"I trust you," he said. He did. Trust wasn't the issue.

"Goodnight, husband. I love you."

"Goodnight, my wife. I love you too."

8&8

When Bella was asleep, truly and deeply asleep, he crept to the dining room, then the study. It was Wednesday night and Alice was already waiting.

"I have numbers," she said.

He slumped into the desk chair. "I don't want numbers tonight, Alice. They're cold. Cold and disconnected. We used to read all the financial papers… but now, it's cheating. We're cheating."

"I know."

"I miss you, Alice. I really miss you."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Edward gave no introduction, he gave no context. He held up the three remaining applications to the webcam. None were blonde and none were named Phil. "Do you have a preference?" he asked. "Wanker number one? Wanker number two?" The British term seemed particularly fitting. "Or ginger Wanker number three?"

Alice's eyes widened. "Well, it's _none_ of them, obviously." Her face contorted suddenly and she shrieked: "Why are you asking me? Y-you know I can't be trusted with the future! You _KNOW THIS_!" she spat. And she reached forward.

"Alice! NO."

She shut her laptop. And that was it. Gone.


	9. Dr Martle's Christmas Party

**Hey, thanks for the reviews guys! Love'em like dark chocolate.**

**I am slowly responding to past reviews, going backwards. **

**Chapter Nine: Dr. Martle's Christmas Party**

For some months, Bella's mind had been consumed with either the brutal science of fertility manipulation, or the sentimental dream of a creating a little family with Edward. Her lecture preparation and her short stories had been relegated to her leftover hours. Therefore, with so many demands on her mind and her time, she had mostly forgotten about the blonde smoker she had seen at the café' with Edward, back in September.

It was a shock to see the girl appear in Bella's lecture hall on the last day of term. Ten minutes into class, the blonde (her big golden hair was like a beacon) got up, with no attempt to be quiet or subtle, and walked out the back door. Her students were mortified; their 'novellas' were to be submitted to the Columbia intranet by midnight that very night, and the idea that someone would not hang on Ms. Swan's every word was unthinkable to them.

When class was finished and every other student of hers had come forward to thank her or compliment her on her _inspirational_ and _awesome_ teaching, Bella bundled up in her coat, scarf and hat, and headed straight for the café. She didn't have much time; her appointment for her first fertility shot was within the hour, then she had to go get ready for the department Christmas party at Dr. Martle's.

Bella didn't have to look very hard. The same girl sat alone in the cold, at the very same table as in September, smoking a cigarette and drinking an enormous latte. It had whipped cream on top and the girl hesitated with it held in front of her face, as if deciding how to attack it.

"Hello," said Bella, folding her arms tightly across her chest.

"Hey," said the girl, nonplussed. She couldn't have been older than twenty. Her skin was flawless, as Bella's had once been when she was a lucky, pimple-free youth. The girl wore a pink lace bow in her hair, that matched her scarf. Something about her appearance reminded Bella a little of Alice. Alice with no taste.

"I don't believe you are officially signed up for my class."

"No. No, I'm not." The girl smiled then and blew the smoke out of the side of her mouth, very slowly. It was like playacting or something.

"Well, it's rude and disruptive when you only stay ten minutes, then leave."

"Yeah, sorry." She giggled, blinking rapidly. "I'm looking for a guy named Anthony. He's come to your class before. Have you seen him around? Tall? Gorgeous? Kinda pasty?" She chortled at her own joke.

Bella bristled. "Anthony's not my student either. He's my nephew."

"You're shitting me." The girl laughed. Again. Everything was funny, it seemed. "Your nephew. How does _that_ work, exactly?"

"No, I'm not shitting you at all." Bella lowered herself onto the edge of the cold metal chair and spoke like the grownup she was. "Anthony was just here for the day, when you saw him. He is auditing a few classes. I doubt you'll see him again."

"'kay," the girl said slowly, scrutinizing Bella, up and down. At least she seemed to be doing so, beneath enormous sunglasses. She attempted another sip of her latte and made a noise of amusement. "Whipped cream moustache!" she said, pointing at herself. "Listen. Can you do me a favor?"

"A favor. Really."

She wiped a finger across the top of her lip. Her fingernails were candy pink. "Tell him I'm back already, will you? Tell him I'll meet him at the new spot."

"The new spot," Bella repeated in disbelief. "I see. What happened to the old spot?"

"_This_ is the old spot," said the girl, gesturing around her.

"And where is the new spot?" said Bella furiously.

The girl tilted her head, perhaps realizing that Bella wasn't exactly pleased with either old or new spot. "Well," she said, flicking ash onto the ground. "That would be telling."

"He's in a relationship, you know," blurted Bella. She took a calming breath. "A serious relationship."

"Is he really?" laughed the girl. "Wow, no shit. _No. Shit._ He hadn't mentioned it."

She was unflappable. Bohemian. Light as a breeze and moral –free. God!

They stared at one another for almost thirty seconds. The girl's mouth quirked with a patronizing smile. "Maybe…" She took a long drag on her cigarette, leaned her head back and released the smoke into the air. "Maybe Anthony doesn't tell Auntie everything either."

**8&8&8&8**

Edward was standing in the roomy closet, figuring out what he was going to wear for Dr. Martle's Christmas party (a suit, or something more befitting a nineteen year old?), when his iPhone rang. For a fleeting moment, he hoped it was Alice, telling him which tie to choose. Like the old days.

But the phone played Lili Marlene:

_Vor der Kaserne_

_Vor dem großen Tor_

Ah, Esme or Carlisle. Or someone from Germany.

"Hello?"

"Hello Edward dear! Lovely to hear your voice."

"And yours, Esme."

"Any word from Alice?" she asked anxiously.

Edward heaved a great sigh. "No, I'm afraid not. I am really very sorry."

He'd called the Wednesday prior, just past midnight, on a conference call to all the Cullens, to relay the news that he had said the wrong thing and Alice had gone incommunicado once again. Everyone had been generally sympathetic, though Rose had unhelpfully wondered aloud if Edward had somehow _made _Alice overly sensitive by coddling her.

Esme had expressed a fear that Alice would try to track down one of Jasper's killers. Emmett said hoped she would track down one of Jasper's killers. Edward feared that she would fall into despair, stop eating, even consider the unthinkable (suicide). Carlisle feared that the Volturi would eventually find her and make use of her vulnerable state. Rose refused to speculate; she was still angry at Alice for "_abandoning_ _us to the mercy of the future_."

"Don't be too hard on yourself," said Esme. "I am amazed you managed to keep her in regular contact for so long, actually. It worked for a while. She will turn up. We must stay positive."

Edward sank onto the padded bench in the closet. "I'm struggling to feel positive about much these days, Esme, I have to tell you."

"Is there something else, Edward? Is Bella doing all right? Pregnancy plans underway?"

"Yes…no… I think so." Once he started talking, he couldn't stop. He told Esme of his jealousy of the 'applicants' (he couldn't bear to say 'sperm donor' to Esme), the feral anger towards them that threatened to surface when he was with Bella (what he meant was 'during sex', but he couldn't say that either), the unexpected pangs of loneliness when Bella seemed to withdraw into herself into the evenings, particularly as she was at work all day, though she only taught one class. He did not mention a growing suspicion that she was hiding something. No, he could not even acknowledge it to himself. It would be admitting there was dishonesty in their marriage.

He wanted their easy, comfortable closeness back. He wanted his wife back, happy, content, and in love with him.

"Sorry," he said, cringing, when he had vented all. "I didn't intend to be so forthcoming."

Esme told him of the ups and downs of married life. She said that cycles for humans are quite normal and that a bad patch (dull, disinterested or even unkind) could last for several months, but that if he were patient and kind and loving, that Bella was likely to come around again, particularly once they had achieved their goal.

"You mean the goal of...?"

"A successful pregnancy," said Esme.

Edward blinked. He thought of it as Bella's goal, not his particularly. Bella's happiness was his goal. The child was a means to an end.

He didn't care for the word 'likely' either. The word 'likely' was never used between vampire mates. But he wasn't married to a vampire. He was married to a human.

"_Introspection will continue, though_, Esme continued, and he should expect more of it during her pregnancy.

'Okay,' he said, resigned, leaning over and putting his forehead in his hand. So far he wasn't feeling any more positive.

"But Bella will certainly need your help, particularly once the baby is born. She will be nervous, emotional and exhausted. This is when your sleeplessness will be a huge advantage over any human couple."

"I can help. I will," he said with conviction, sitting up. He would feed it and burp it and change its diapers. He would walk the night with it cradled in his arms, so Bella could get enough sleep.

"I really think your jealousy will disappear the moment you see the baby, Edward! He or she is likely to have a physical resemblance to the woman you love. Remember the baby is an extension of Bella."

"Yes. True."

"And really, the child's connection to his or her biological father becomes instantly irrelevant. He or she will be _your_ child Edward, to nurture and teach. The baby will wake and see you, the baby will be hungry or fussy and you and Bella will provide comfort. Who cares about an anonymous man the child will never know or love? You have so much goodness in you, Edward. Wisdom, integrity, generosity. Any child would be blessed to have you as a father, I am certain."

He hoped so. He badly wanted to believe he could be a good father to someone. He would read to it, make it sack lunches, send it to college. Perhaps he could even love it, if it were from Bella.

"Have you considered trawling through any online support forums?"

"What? _ No_."

He could hear the smile in her voice. "Yes, Edward, men need to vent too. I think you'll find there are other men out there in a similar situation."

_Sterile men, she means. Sterile and insecure. _

"For now, just keep being your charming and generous self, Edward. Bella loves you. Profoundly. Remember that. She has chosen to be with you, despite all the obstacles and risks of loving a vampire. She is a special human woman. "

Esme words rang true. In all the anguish of the recent months, at no time did he feel that Bella had stopped loving him, or had resented his infertile state or the outward appearance of his ever-youthful 'age'. She might have forgotten him a little – and perhaps he had withdrawn as well, trying to hide his anger. "You're right, Esme. You are so right."

"You should take her out tonight, somewhere new. Tell her how much you love her. That never gets old."

"We have a work party tonight, her department's Christmas party, down in the city. I will tell her. I'll find a moment in there to tell her. Thanks – you're the best, Esme."

**8&8&**

Several hours later, Edward sped south down the Bronx Parkway, weaving and dodging through the traffic, taking the curves at speed, even though the late model Mercedes sedan wasn't exactly suited for such a purpose. He felt lighter than he had in months. He had spent the afternoon lurking on the forums for men at . The posts were full of ringing testimonials for fatherhood, gushing (but in the most manly terms, of course) affection for newborn babes, and _nevermind_ the source of the male genetic material. It would be totally worth all this stress. They'd be a little family of three, one of whom would carry the essence of his Bella. How could he _not _love the child? For the first time, he thought of the child as a _he_ or a _she, _and not an _it. _

Edward sang carols in the car: _Good King Wenceslas looked out, on the Feast of Stephen_, which soon transitioned into _Come on it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you. _Unfortunately, he was giving a 'sleigh ride' to another couple this evening, a colleague of Bella's. He'd find a moment to get Bella alone - to do what? To tell her that he loved her. To tell her – yes, he could tell her now with sincerity- that he was ready to launch Project Baby Cullen. What a relief. Faking his agreement had been painful and dishonest. _Go for it_, he would say. _Make the appointment_. _Let's have a baby._

His phone chimed with a text: _We're outside in the porte-cochere. -B_

He texted back: _ETA two minutes.- E. _He even typed a heart: _3_

Within two minutes, Edward pulled the Mercedes into the porte-cochere of their Riverside apartment. His whole being seemed to expand with his newfound feelings when he spotted his mate. He thought his Bella looked utterly beautiful, even as he noted a fine hint of scowl between her brows. Something was irking her. He would do his best tonight to charm her, to show her his love and support.

He hopped out to open the passenger doors for the women.

"You must be Anthony," drawled Bella's colleague. "I'm Diana Joans, with an 'a', how luuuvely to meet you! Isabella's told me all about youuuu! Such a handsome young man! This is my husband, shake hands, darling, thank you for giving us a ride, parking is such a chore in the Village!"

One handshake with Edward and the husband was reluctant to get in the car. Sensible man. Diana _Joans_ _with an A_ was too focused on herself to let her natural instincts kick in. "_Get innn _the Mercedes, Lyyle," she admonished.

Edward whispered in Bella's ear just before she climbed in. "You look stunning, my girl. Drop dead gorgeous." She was wearing an unrecognizable perfume, Edward noted. And various disparate beauty products in her hair, arranged mostly down with some tresses pinned artfully up. The mix of scents made his nose twitch. He preferred Bella's natural scent, but tonight he would not complain.

"Thank you," she muttered. Indeed, Bella had spent an unusual amount of time getting ready in their well-lit Riverside apartment bathroom, while Edward drove down from Chappaqua. Bella had chosen beautiful underthings; she had applied a smoky eye pencil; she had employed hair products never used before. (Oh, how she missed Alice and her enthusiasm on such an occasion!)

Bella had also critically examined the pores on her face, prodded her thighs and spent an inordinate amount of time naked in front of the mirror trying to remember if her breasts were perkier five years ago.

Would the fertility injections have made any difference? Bigger boobs? She had weighed her breasts in her hands. Nope, as 'B' as ever.

Even C or D cups would not compensate for youth, though. A girl ten years younger, with long legs, porcelain skin, and a playful, _c'est la vie_ attitude. A girl whose manner hovered on the cusp of adult activities, like learning to smoke with finesse and luring a man into bed without appearing trashy.

She had wanted him to get out more. Meet people and fill that hole left by the now-blank Alice, the self-imposed fragmentation of the Cullen coven, the dissolving ties to friends back in Denver.

Hah, _apparently he had_. There was something perversely satisfying about Bella's discovery. Edward obviously had a secret too. His perfect love for his wife had had a wobble. A feisty and beautiful girl had paid him some attention, and since his wife hadn't lately, he indulged in it. Okay, so maybe Bella deserved it. Karma was a bitch, etc.

She choked back a sob. Fine. She would ask Edward about the girl. Tonight. She would also have to tell him, at some point, about the fertility drugs. She tried not to think about that.

If only Diana Joans would shut up. The woman was leaning forward, no seatbelt all the way down the Henry Hudson Parkway, and flirting shamelessly with Edward, right in front of her husband. And what woman wouldn't? Edward looked magnificent, frankly, in his grey wool tailored pants and black cashmere pullover. Windsor knotted green tie. A Greek god. A movie star. Bella gawped at his profile, all the way to Greenwich Village.

It was a relief when they had parked and were walking up the steps of Dr. Martle's home, one of those sleek converted warehouses, all minimal modernism.

"I need to speak with you," said Bella, tugging on his sleeve.

"Then stick by me, my darling," he said, smiling and turning his head so only she could hear. "But don't forget to call me _Anthony_." He ran his fingertips along her spine, under her coat, in a slow, tactile pass. She thought for a moment he was going to kiss her, right behind the Joans' backs. "I love you," he said. "And I'm so proud of you."

She stared at him. Guilt and indignation warred against one another.

He blinked, letting his hand rest on the top of her ass. "Something wrong?" he mouthed. Then the door opened and he withdrew his arm.

"Hello, hello! Come in, Isabella! Diana!" her head of department boomed. "Lyle, good to see you! And you must be the nephew?"

"Anthony, sir."

"Anthony, excellent! Let me take your coats, thank you!"

Edward's eyes roamed over her hungrily, as she handed over her coat. _Good._ The back of her dress was a sheer panel, the front was a demure high-collared velvet. Curve-hugging but covered up, sexy but innocent. Take that, blondie.

Bella peered past the foyer and fought an unexpected surge of insecurity. She had forgotten how much she disliked large social gatherings, how she preferred to hide in a corner, or, better yet, not even attend. Dr. Martle's home was heaving. All academics, probably. Each vying to be more clever, more witty, more profound than the other. And the vocabulary calisthenics! Bella was more likely to say 'saucy' than 'insouciant'. 'Greedy' over 'avaricious'. Her writing was similar. 'Plain-speaking', a critic had called it. Not impressive among Columbia's elite. Could she keep up in competitive social conversation? She took an involuntary step backwards, right into Edward's stone-like frame.

"You got here by merit. Just be yourself," encouraged Edward in her ear. How was it that he knew her so damn well?

"Good to have young people here, right, Isabella?" Dr. Martle was saying. "The students are hanging out in the kitchen, Anthony! May I fetch you some mulled wine, Isabella? Champagne anyone? Diet Coke, Anthony?"

"Thank you, Dr. Martle, I will help myself," said Edward congenially.

A glass of mulled wine was put in Bella's hand, which she immediately passed to Edward, so it would warm his hands in preparation for all the hand shaking. In under a minute Edward had snagged her some Champagne from a passing waitperson. Various colleagues approached to greet her with their spouses and partners, many mentioning _A Long Piece of Road_ and their admiration. The men seemed to eye her up and down, almost as intensely as Edward had; she blushed and hid her self-consciousness behind frequent sips from her glass.

She didn't have to worry about slipping up; Edward was already introducing himself as her nephew.

He inquired intelligently about her colleagues' work; he seemed to already know who everyone was and what they taught or had published. The women melted and the men were impressed. She hadn't seen him so charming since…yes, since they lived in Denver and used to socialize with friends. When he made an effort to suppress all signs of predatory physicality, people actually warmed to him. Babies in grocery stores, _Denver Post_ newspaper colleagues, and now Columbia's academics. He didn't dominate, either. He was appropriately deferential for his 'youth' and gave Bella frequent openings to make her own comments – though she didn't exactly dive in. She worked on her Champagne instead. It was sharp and cold and it stung deliciously as it went down. Alcohol, the medical technician had told her, would have no effect on the efficacy of her fertility drugs.

"So sorry your Edward couldn't make it!" said Mrs. Martle, interrupting their cluster. "Isabella, this must be your nephew, hello! Come with me, Anthony, and I'll introduce you to some of our undergrads – they're hiding in the kitchen. Must be passing a forbidden flask around! Of course," she leaned forward conspiratorially, her grey wispy hair floating around her head, 'in our day we would have been sneaking a joint!"

Polite laughs all around as Bella once again grabbed Edward's sleeve. The last thing she wanted was Edward pressed up close in a room full of twenty year old college girls.

"Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Martle. I'll head to the kitchen, thanks – I can introduce myself," offered Edward, and Mrs. Martle, satisfied, moved on.

"_No_," blurted Bella, now grabbing the front of his sweater, not caring who saw. "How about more Champagne, Ed- Anthony, please?" She handed him her empty glass.

"_Steady_, Bella," he murmured, gently removing her hand. "I'll return shortly." She was relieved when he headed away from the kitchen door, where loud shrieks of laughter were emanating, every time the restaurant-like double hinged door swung open.

She vaguely eavesdropped on a political discussion that Diana Joans was '_Oh my gawd'_-ing about, one cluster group over, when Edward appeared with her glass refilled. "I switched the place cards," he said to her alone, as he handed her the recharged glass.

"Huh?" she said, inelegantly.

"For dinner. I'll be at your table, though not next to you. They had me sitting with other students. Now Dr. Joans is, instead." He smirked in Diana Joans's direction and Bella laughed, a little wildly. Then she hiccupped, just before taking another cool swig.

"You need some food in your system," he observed, chuckling. "Lightweight."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I need to speak with you," said Bella determinedly. "Privately."

"Yes," he agreed, "but we'll need to be discreet."

_Fuck discreet_, she thought.

He inclined his head. "I'm afraid they are about to serve—"

"DINNER everyone!" shouted Dr. Martle jovially. "This way, into the dining room, please. Everyone!"

The crowd surged and the opportunity to say any more was lost. Bella found her table; she was seated next to the ex-Poet Laureate that she so admired, a large and kindly woman whose poetry often moved Bella to tears. Goodness, if only she hadn't drunk so much, for she had never gotten the courage to talk to the poet before. Edward, across the table, was trying to convey some message with his eyes: encouragement or maybe it was caution; she had no idea what he wanted.

She waved her hand dismissively. "We'll talk after dinner, sweetheart," she said loudly and half the table looked over at her. She was starting to feel more forgiving. Really mellow, actually.

They all sat; there was a brief speech and toast from Dr. Martle, across the room. The first course was served and red or white wine offered.

"White!" said Bella, pointing at one of the many glasses at her place setting.

Someone politely asked about her husband. "Europe!" she said, emphatically. "He's in Europe!"

When asked _where_, exactly, she said, "Oh, I don't know. France, I think. Or Finland. Yeah, Finland sounds good. He's a musician, you know. Piano. Guitar. Cello. An assortment of instruments, really. He's brilliant."

Edward had delved into some deep discussion with Professor Smarty-Pants, a man Bella avoided in the halls at work. He was one of those people so outrageously intelligent that he could hardly conduct a normal conversation. Hah, Edward could match the guy, clever for clever; she'd bet her book royalties on it. She overheard Edward say 'trenchant imagery' and a minute later, 'hallucinatory realism'. He was cutting up his Beef Wellington, pushing it around. Sooner or later, he'd have to take a bite. Then he'd have to sneak it in his napkin. Or regurgitate it later. She could ask him if he needed to go out onto the terrace and throw up. Then she could speak to him, at last, about the blonde and the 'new spot'.

She ate a little of the beautiful food and found herself, though, eventually talking to Dame Whazzhername. Lovely lady. Oh baby Jesus in a manger, the woman loved Bella's novel.

"You've read my novel?" said Bella, flattered to the core. "Youreadmynovel."

"It was marvellous," said the lady. She had a soft Scottish burr, which Bella found even more appealing than Phil's plummy Oxbridge accent. "Such original characters," the lady continued, smiling and waving her fork in a chubby hand. "I could have taken that little Liza to my bosom, she was such a cheeky wee thing."

"A cheeky wee thing?" repeated Bella, laughing. "I like that!"

"And what are you writing next, my dear?"

"Oh, a set of short stories. My last, probably, before I disappear forever. One is about a family in Chicago around the turn of the century. New York! I meant _New York_. The science fiction one is giving me trouble – it's vaguely technical. It's so important to get that credibility down pat, or the critics – you know what the science fiction critics are like, so exacting, they're like Sheldon in that Big Bang show – they would crucify me. So I am learning all about gene splicing and Jurassic Park dino-DNA and all sorts of complicated techno…_babblestuff_. Uh-huh, yes, more wine please," she said to the waiter who was so thoughtful to refill everyone's glass.

The woman nodded, an amused expression on her face, and her multiple chins also nodded after a momentary, wobbling delay.

Bella looked over at Edward, who was giving her a bit of side-eyed alarm.

_Mind your own conversation_, she thought. "Cheers, everyone," she said boldly to the table, raising her glass. "To Christmas! To the Columbia University School of the Arts Writing Faculty. And our earnest students." Pleased that she got all those words out intact, she took a gulp of wine.

"Yes, cheers! To our next published works!" said someone at the table, a man whose poems had yet to be published.

"Hear, hear, to immortality, through the written word," said another, whose novel had put a toe into into the Times best seller list for only a week, placing his hand dramatically over his heart. This made Bella giggle. It was almost easier to achieve immortality through vampirism than to get a book published these days.

"To my long suffering agent," said the ex-poet laureate. _Too mah loong sooferin' agen'_, it sounded to Bella. She giggled again.

No one else spoke of teaching or their students. No, it was all about _publishing. _There was a toast about _grants_ and another about _awards_.

"And to our spouses and children," said a plain-faced professor, whom Bella had never met. "May their wells of patience never run dry."

"Lovely thought, shame about the metaphor," commented Bella to the poet, out of the side of her mouth. "To our children as yet unborn," she declared, holding her glass up to Edward. She stared longingly at his beautiful face, his cheekbones, his cut glass jaw, and his unique, coppery bronze hair. That green tie might just be the color of his eyes, about a century ago. She beamed, all angry thoughts of blonde smokers momentarily forgotten. Bella loved him and would gift him with an alternate sort of immortality, one he could hold up proudly without all that self-loathing. "May all their genes come true."

**&8&8&**

Author's note: And so I leave you, mid—party. Until next week, chicas! Let me know if you see a typo! Last week it was conscience/conscious. HOW embarrassing.


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